Little Lion Man
by ShadowsClaw
Summary: "Take it or leave it." The man tapped his foot impatiently. "Let me tell you again," he started. "The deal is simple: the titans go free – so long as you promise to give up everything." It wasn't much of a challenge for Kronos to make his decision. "I'll take it." (Future Dystopia AU).
1. Act One

ACT ONE

 **PROLOGUE**

" _weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start"_

-little lion man, mumford and sons

"Take it or leave it."

He wasn't in much of a position to argue. Blood dripped along the once-elegant contour of his jaw line and his ribs had long since punctured his left lung. His fingernails, grimy and dirty, taunt with strain, dragged through the broken marble of the dungeon floor. His blood was there too. Probably more than was inside him at this point.

The man tapped his foot impatiently.

"Let me tell you again," he started, as though explaining to a small child. Kronos listened, though his ears were ringing. "The deal is simple: the titans go free," the man paused, eyes lolled back into his head as though he were thinking, "Well, they live among us, anyway – so long as you promise to give up _everything_." He waited, maybe at an attempt for emphasis. Kronos didn't see the point – he was already bloodied and defeated. What more could dramatics add? "Ha, okay." He interrupted himself here again, blue eyes shining in brilliant clarity. His hands waved up and down. "Everything save your immortality." A wicked smile spread across his face. "Wouldn't want you to live a short life, would we?"

It wasn't much of a challenge for Kronos to make his decision. What would be the price of his refusal? The eternal servitude of his brothers and sisters? He knew the reality. He knew the blood dripping from him and the broken bloods throughout could not fight Zeus and win. "I'll take it." His voice was awfully hoarse, though he'd meant to impose an air of dignity to his reply. "But only," he had to stop and wheeze here, blood gushing up his bleeding throat. It trickled in the same stream along his jaw when he coughed and painted his white teeth a gruesome red. "Only if you swear it."

The man laughed, though his eyes were cold and he did not smile. "Swear it? On what?"

"On your mother's name."

Zeus' glacier blue eyes narrowed and the lightening god pursed his lips. Another tap of his impatient foot. Kronos winced.

"Fine." he decided. "On Rhea's name – I swear it." He reached out his hand; cold and dry to Kronos' forehead. The titan's chest clenched in agony as he felt Zeus restrict his powers within his body – Zeus' own magic coursing through him forcing him to shut down. He couldn't control the muscle spasms that lashed him. His veins ached. His eyes burned. His skin was both painfully dry and sweating. But he did not cry out.

And then the deal was made, and that was that.

The Crooked One was defeated at last.

 **"** **Fuck." She moaned.** "Shit."

Kronos wanted rolled his eyes at her, but he kissed her jaw instead, a smirk on his lips. The girl, a minor goddess he was sure, writhed beneath him. Her fingernails, long and painted and garish, clawed at his naked back like talons. It broke his skin a little. He liked it.

"Shit!" She panted against him and her breath, her final moan that night, was deep and wet in his ear. She blinked up at him when she could, her chest still just barely heaving. She slid her shaking legs up the side of his torso with a languid grin. He was more controlled – just squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply through his nose. She smiled up at him. Their skins were flushed and slightly sweaty and they could hardly see each other in the darkness of the room. She did her best to make her voice deep and sexual. It wasn't much of a success. "That was nice, honey." Her toes ran down the backs of his legs. He felt very suddenly sick. "Another night?" Leaning back to make sure he could see her, all of her, she prompted with a flourish of her hair, "You want me tomorrow?" A flutter of her false eyelashes.

He smiled and lay down beside her, brushing bleached hair from her face. "No."

Her pout was not as cute as she thought. "Why not?"

He kissed her nose. "Because I said so." He kissed her lips. "Now hush. Sleep."

Moments of scuffling and the gentle sound of the sheets settling around them distracted Kronos for a moment. His head sunk lethargically into the pillow beneath him. The dim moonlight from the window painted his face.

It'd been years since he'd payed attention to the weather, to the seasons, but now, reclined in fresh hotel sheets, his eyes traced the delicate flakes of snow as they flittered past the window. The plain white curtain billowed as the freezing air entered the room; he couldn't remember the last time it'd snowed in hot, dry, horrible Athens. He'd decided long ago the city wasn't all it was cracked up to be – especially not after the second rise, but he lived here nonetheless. Home is home, after all. And now, despite everyone, it was snowing.

Lazily, he slipped his fingers through the girl's hair. He regarded her for a moment. She was pretty, surely, but nothing like some of the girls and boys his estranged brother Hyperion ran through his club in **Exarchia**. Absolutely gloriously gorgeous people – all wasting their best years away in hopes to catch the attention of some god. Wasn't unheard of. It'd been centuries since the Olympians had made themselves known to mortals again – but this time – they'd decided they were here to stay: clubs in high-rises flourished beneath the watchful eye of Zeus in central Athens. But here, where the buildings never broke three stories and the people couldn't look you in the eye – you settled for a girl like her. The fifty-credits-a-night girls and boys who were on every street corner. Cheap and pretty enough. Her breath came even and smooth as she fell into sleep. He'd paid her for the whole night, of course, but not for more sex. To let her sleep. Well, why not? Seemed polite, almost. Who else was going to give her a break?

Besides, she was a great alibi.

He left her a banknote larger than she'd earned beneath the hotel lamp beside the bed after he'd found his clothes strewn around the room. Pulled the sheet over her still naked body. Brushed her bang behind her ear. He tied a scarf around his nose, partly to keep out the chill of the frosty air, mostly to hid his face. He found his knife where he'd left it, behind the dresser next to a fake, tacky Doric column; and after that, it was fast work. The halls were silent so early in the morning. He'd been sleeping when it happened. And then it wasn't his problem anymore. It was done. Once Kronos' knife was returned to his grip and he'd concealed with his long, winter coat – he set out into the haunting dark of the Greek night.

 **ONE**

He raised an eyebrow and tapped an index finger against the pad of his laptop keyboard. How could he not? It blinked at him in plain lettering up from a burner phone:

 _Spam?Mark_ yes

 _Unknown Sender:_

 _130_ _Ambassador_ _Street._ _Room 403._ _December 4_ _th_ _, 2_ _1_ _:_ _3_ _0._ _20.000.000_ _c_ _._

It was a colder day, very much unlike Athens despite the winter season, so the cafe's already busy atmosphere had nearly doubled with clientele. Hot chocolate seemed a popular drink with the locals today. Last night's snow fall had made the news, and the cafe's small monitor above its broken pastry case showed an airbrushed woman carefully describing the phenomenon in explicit details – issuing driving warnings, weather warnings, etc. The murder of a UK businessman in a tasteless Plaka hotel somehow hadn't seemed as important. Usually, Kronos made a point not to work in his own neighborhood – but he'd made an exception last night. He'd seen the rest money wired to one of his accounts earlier this morning. Another job well done, then. He sipped his coffee. A tourist with a stuffed backpack knocked into his table, making Kronos have to steady his laptop as the thing wobbled on its single leg. The tables here were old. The chairs were rickety. The plug-in electric fan on the display was loud and dusty. Kronos didn't think the floors had been cleaned in a good month or so. Agata, the slightly overweight owner who had a shockingly mean face for such a nice woman, only had one employee – a boy, maybe eighteen – who was probably busy getting high in the kitchen. Unbelievably though, this is why Kronos liked the place. Busy. Too small. Kinda gross honestly. Hard to spot an unassuming Greek-looking man drinking a cup of hot coffee among a throng of hungry, tired Americans with fanny-packs. Besides, the free internet was a plus. Internet connection in Greece was joke and everyone knew it – hence every tourist-trap cafe advertising "free wi-fi here!" on their little street-side billboards. Sure, he could have paid for it in his apartment – the shithole – but why bother when he could have an excellent view of sweaty, miserable tourists trying to check their email on smartphones? And he supposed the scones weren't too bad either.

A Turkish man leaned over the counter. "How much for a cappuccino?"

The pastry crumbled in his hands as he pulled a dried cherry from the bread. His eyes flicked back to the burner. His tapped his finger.

He knew Ambassador Street, of course. Everyone did. They'd renamed it some seventeen years ago – it was a crucial artery of what had once been the upscale district of **Kolonaki**. Now, of course, the new Olympic district. Kronos didn't understand that particular move either – the rest of Athens' districts had seemed to retain their names with the transition to the gods. Why make Kolonaki more ridiculous than it already was? He digressed. Adjacent to Olympic Boulevard, no, he wasn't kidding, that's what they'd decided to call it, he wasn't having it with these names – Ambassador Street was where Zeus and his new pantheon of dipshits stashed guests that weren't quite prestigious enough to warrant a stay on Olympic Boulevard itself. It was a nicer part of town. Certainly. And nicer parts of town usually meant better security. Higher security measures made his job harder. And the whole "at this time" thing was sort of weird too. Most people just wanted the job done. That being said, he could do a lot with twenty million credits. Maybe he could move back to Crete and settle for awhile – twenty million would set him up just fine for a century or two if he handled it right. Probably more if he tried his hand at farming again, like he used to. That decided it then, didn't it? He could deal with some fancy locks for twenty million credits.

"Two hot chocolates, please. Small." Said a mother to Agata over the counter.

 _Confirmed._ He typed with his thumb into the rubber keys. Had to love old-fashioned number and letter buttons. His thumb held down the top button and he slipped out the battery after it'd powered itself down. He slammed his laptop closed. Finished his coffee. Brushed the stray crumbs off his shirt. It was November 11th today – just past mid-morning. He had some time to kill.

"Bye, Corax." Yelled Agata over the thrum of the crowd as he moved toward the door.

"Bye, love." He smiled. "See you tomorrow."

She raised her hand in a quick acknowledgment.

"May I have please-"

And he was on the street.

It was busy. With tourists, locals, tired kids coming home from class, and chic woman walking their tiny dogs to even chicer patio restaurants – despite the snow. Not a _bad_ part of town. Not too expensive. But not really a _good_ part of town either. A boy in heavy clothes and thin coat stood on a corner in front of a grocery store – handing out multicolored fliers from the stack in his grip. His hands were shaking fiercely in the cold. Vaguely, Kronos wondered which of his relatives had sold their soul this time.

"Flier, sir?" The child asked politely, extending his arm. Kronos paused. Sighed. Removed his gloves.

"Wear these," he chided as he traded his old knit gloves for a flier. He didn't say anything else to the kid as he left, though the boy made the pretense to refuse out of politeness, because he didn't have to. Better left unsaid. His eyes flicked down to the paper in his hands.

 _Themis Miracles_

 _128 Ambassador Street_

His sister, apparently. Must have been making pretty good business too, for a girl with really very little practical skill to offer the world, to have a solo front on Ambassador Street. Since the Olympians had made themselves known to the mortals, in a manner of speaking, the so-dubbed "Miracle Market" had boomed. It'd started small, some minor gods doing minor things for a mortal with enough coin – but it'd grown rapidly out of hand. Gods and goddess like Athena and Ares had begun to sell their powers as "miracles." "Oh, Mrs. President, you want to win that war? Ha! Easy. What you gonna pay me, haha?" "Yes, Mr. Prime Minister? All the intel I know on that submarine class? Certainly. Fifty million credits, please." After the Olympians, it'd been the Egyptians, then the Norse, then the Slavic, the Morrigan, Yemanja, anyone else you possibly name from childhood storybooks. From the stories your family told you. Kronos' former friends, his titans, had sprinted down that road with the Olympians – running just as fast, clamoring just as brutally to get to the front of the pack. It'd taken awhile for the world to rebalance, after more and more gods offered themselves as clairvoyants and tanks for purchase, but eventually it sort of had: as you'd expect perhaps. With the gods on top. With mortals grovelling at their feet, just getting by. Such was power. The Olympians themselves had always been too slimy to fall below – they were always willing to make a deal – hence, Athens: once a poorer city, now a powerhouse force to be reckoned with. Again. History has a funny way of repeating itself. Of course, Kronos had been there through it all. From the beginning, when his son and Athena had fought for it. Through civil conflicts within Grecian city states, countless wars with the Turkish, the establishment and the fall of the Orthodox Church. The second rise of the Olympians. To him, it was just Athens. Kronos folded the flier into his pocket and shrugged his laptop bag – a prehistoric _Jansport_ , well? he was cheap – higher on his shoulder. And it was a nice red.

Kronos, then? Former king, powerful, wily, brilliant titan? Surely he was a leader of this movement. A "miracle-maker" as it were.

No. He'd kept his promise to Zeus. Zeus had kept his promise to Kronos. The titans were free to ruin their world how ever they wished. Kronos could do nothing. Had nothing. Not physically. Not to live for. To see his brothers and sisters somehow smiling among all this?

That was enough.

 **TWO**

He was usually pretty good about doing his own research on this kind of thing. Most jobs didn't need much. Shocking, really, how so many terrible people were convinced of their own invincibility. Once he'd scaled the side wall – as it was defended from view by a windowless apartment complex – and he'd slipped in. He had only one adage: be brief and be silent. Easy. In the case of the Plaka hotel, the UK businessman in case anyone's keeping score, he'd just booked a room with a hooker and just… waited. Even easier.

This crappy- well, okay, actually what was shaping up to look like it was a beautiful resort-hotel, on Ambassador Street? Not so much.

The had-beens on Ambassador Street must have moved up in the world since Kronos had last visited. He'd expected some fancy locks. Some expensive video surveillance systems. But this shit? Were they kidding? Kronos flipped through the building petition sheets, staring at the initial blueprints for the proposed hotel. Hall of Records. The absolute bane of his existence. Sorely, he wished that they would make a digital, online, _free_ catalogue of all their absolutely _endless_ papers so he didn't have to sneak in the back window while the lady working at her desk got up for a bathroom break. Well, everyone has their dreams. Couldn't he just walk in the front door? Of course. But then they'd know his face and what excuse would he have to be there so often? "I just love going to buildings that incidentally have people go missing the day after I check out the blueprints!" Yeah, right. Better to not raise suspicion if at all possible. Still – the "avoiding everyone in the building while he found the document he needed only to escape down to the unused, creepy, dingy basement" shtick was getting old. Not that it had ended up mattering at all in the end. Since the hotel was warranted by the Olympians – they hadn't been required to submit officialblueprints to the Hall of Records. Which was _infuriating_. The asshats. He had managed to scrounge together some receipts from a technical supply store in Nikaia, confirming the head of security had placed an order for some ridiculous heat-sensing security system. Which was nice. But typical. And useless. And _annoying_ to circumvent.

Kronos scrubbed his face with his palms.

 _Ding_.

Kronos furrowed his brow. He didn't have a cell phone- well, okay. He had burner phones. And a lot of them. But never more than two at once and he never gave out his numbers. Phones were strictly for business. He never got texts – he didn't need the headache of dealing with the authorities. Besides, the only job he had right now was connected to his _other_ phone. The one he'd pulled the batteries from. This particular gem of a Nokia didn't have anything vital connected to it yet. He dug it from his front trouser pocket.

 _Spam?Mark_ yes

 _Unknown Sender:_

 _Don't worry about the blueprints, I'll send you the access code to the room._

Ha.

Ha, ha. Say fucking _what_? Kronos' fingers hovered over the buttons on the keypad. What did he say? Thanks? When am I going to get this magical access code? How did _you_ _acquire_ this so-called magical access code? How did you know I was looking at the blueprints? Do you know where I am? His eyes darted around the room, only to find dusty old furnishings, and hey, he could use that chai-. No. Focus. Something was fishy here. Something was fishy _as hell_. He drummed his fingers onto the steel table. Rubbed his eyes. The perfectly straight lines of the security system wiggled and dancing his view. He'd been here too long. He was tired – and it was time for dinner. Besides, whoever hired him seemed to know where he was. Logically speaking, if the buyer was going to hurt him – he would have done so by and now and certainly not notified him of it. But better safe than sorry. The chair screeched against the polished concrete as he stood and stretched his arms over his head. Climbed the stairs. Waited for the lady to leave her desk with her legs a little crossed, by the gods she must drink a lot of water, snuck out the window. Kronos sighed in the thick, cold Athens air.

He didn't eat out a lot. Above the below but below the upper? Well. He wasn't really sore for money, but he wasn't so well off either. No one was. Money wasn't so easy to come by in the turbulent climate the new rise of the Olympians had left in its wake. The years had been hard and he'd been alone for most of them. Amber – a veterinarian – had made money, a girl he'd briefly considered proposing to, but between the two of them they'd only been able to afford Kronos' current apartment. One bedroom, one non-shared bathroom. In Plaka. Sigh. That wasn't the point though, he shook his head – the point was, when he did eat out – he went to the same restaurant. It wasn't fancy, or chic and modern. Sure as hell didn't have a little patio with wire chairs. It was your classic hole in the wall, with fixtures from sometime in a bygone century and a menu from not much after. Classic Greek food. Like, _classic_ _al_ Greek food. Athenian cabbage and shit people read about in historical texts. What Kronos had grown up on. It was owned by some huge history buff – ironically an American, not a native Greek – who'd spent years researching ancient Grecian recipes. They weren't always totally authentic, but they did make Kronos sorta happy whenever he felt like he needed something more homey, more comforting than a salad. What? He had a soul too.

He found a seat in the back of the restaurant by himself and ordered a water and ice with his dinner. They served him bread and offered him wine mixed with water, in the traditional way. He refused, they offered again, the usual unnecessary rollercoaster of eating out. It wasn't until he'd finished his second slice of bread, a nice barley loaf, just having put in his order for his main meal, that something… unusual happened.

This restaurant was a novelty, and was popular with history-minded tourists; so different clientele every night was sort of the norm. Kronos rarely recognized anymore from the times he'd come months before. Not even the waiters and waitresses often stayed the same. Tonight was different. She was sitting not very far from him, in a table set for two leaning against the wall. Her fingers idly pricked at the tines of her fork as she waited for her meal and her hair was covering most of her face. She was leaned down over the menu like she was protecting it, but he would know her in a crowd of a thousand.

Shit.

The clock ticked on the wall behind him loudly, each second ticking by making him jolt. One, two, three… he waited twelve beats before he slid into the chair across from her. There was silence between them for a moment, when she didn't look up from her menu.

"Would you recommend," she paused to lick her lips, "the "authentic dolmathes?" Or the "original baklava?"" She flicked her eyes up to meet his imploring gaze. "I'm tempted by the baklava, I think. Something sweet for me tonight." She smiled at him – skin at the corners of her eyes crinkling. He stared. It hadn't been thirty seconds and she was already flirting. How very typically _her_.

The waitress, young, Slavic-Greek, and bored, materialized from out of nowhere to their table side. "Would you like to take your meal together?" She asked, pen lazily in hand – pressed against the paper notepad in her hand.

"Please." She answered smoothly before he could. He nodded almost glumly.

The waitress addressed her. "Are you ready to order?"

"Baklava, please. And an espresso if you have it."

"Of course." She jot it down and zipped away.

Kronos sighed. "I imagine you're here for a reason."

She smiled down to her empty water glass. He filled it for her with the latched bottle on the table. "To see you."

He glowered. "Why?"

"Well, it's been awhile." Her humor shone in her eyes. He didn't want to budge.

"Why?" He repeated, stagnant and lips pressed together.

"To talk."

Kronos had always considered himself strong-willed. Strong to uphold his brothers. Strong to take the fall and gracefully as he had attempted. Strong to be alone through millennia. He was not strong with her. And she knew it. They did more than talk.

By the end of the night, Rhea had not only seen his absolutely shit single bedroom apartment on the third story of a fifty year old building in Plaka – but the inside of his kitchen, his bathroom, his bedroom, beneath his clothes… He rested his face against her scalp, later that night when she was lost in her dreams, and breathed in the sinfully sweet scent of her hair, the smell of sex permeating the air around them. Kissed her without fear of repercussion or thought. Lifted the sheets around their bodies and fell asleep for the first time in awhile – happy and content.

He hated to admit anything, much less this: he'd missed her.

 **THREE**

One week to the day Rhea had been in Greece. She was only visiting, having made a name for herself as a curator in New York in identifying classical pottery – which was apparently a job possibility that paid decent money. Go figure. The bitch lived in the Hamptons. Maybe if Kronos had paid more mind as the ages had passed… alas. He had to settle with his former wife's circuitous spiels. He could live with that, he decided after the third museum.

Happily.

He thought she was talking about a vase they saw in the vacuous antique store she'd dragged him into, but he was much more interested in her. He didn't think she was the modern epitome of beauty, not really even close. But the long, shallow scar cutting into her cheek to her neck only endeared her more to him. She'd fought a fucking drakon for it. She'd earned it. What mortal model could say that? Nothing against them, then, he still thought they were pretty – but Rhea? She was gorgeous. Fuck, he was sappy.

"You listening?"

"Yeah." He said immediately. He wasn't. Squinting at the vase, maybe it was Chinese? Or Dutch? Fuck, he didn't know – it was _that_ blue at least. You know the one.

She raised an eyebrow.

"You're more spacey than I remember."

"Am not."

She snorted. Pointed to his head.

"When the fuck did that get there?" he mumbled more to himself than anyone else, pulling the baseball cap from his hair. _The Metropolitan Museum of Art_ , it read in plain English cursive.

"When I put it there." She rolled her eyes. "Come on."

He blinked. "To where?"

She glanced back carelessly. "My hotel."

"It's noon." His hand motioned aimlessly over his shoulder. "Didn't you want lunch?"

"Room service."

"Is expensive."

"Didn't you want sex?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Wait. N- no. Kronos. Wrong way, idiot. Follow me."

"…I'll follow you."

 **FOUR**

Today was the day. December 4th.

Yay.

Money.

Who doesn't like money?

But of course, Kronos was hardly thinking about the impending murder he was going to commit. No, no. He was thinking about Rhea. Rekindled relationships and all that crap. She'd arrived three weeks ago now and though she was only spending a month here, Kronos had basically spent every waking hour with her since he'd seen her in the restaurant. His life had gone from him planning his life on Crete with whatever was leftover from twenty million credits to him planning _their_ life somewhere in Upstate New York. Together. Funny how such things could happen in a day. How he was already tripping pathetically over his heels for her in a week. He knew it was stupid and that, really, he needed to follow up on this so-called intel he'd been sent by his client, or think of an actual _plan_ as opposed to his current idea of just winging it, but instead – he was sitting at one of those stupid, cliché patio restaurants he'd been making fun of his whole life, laughing over some overpriced goddamn _salad_ across from Rhea. She looked gorgeous today, 'course, in a light-colored sundress and laced-up leather sandals. He meant to think about the blueprints of the security system: he thought about her laugh. He meant to think about how his client had miraculously gathered the entrance code to the hotel room: he thought about her naked body. What? He _was_ a guy. He liked sex.

And _fuck_ ,he liked her.

All of her.

Even so, he had to refuse her flirtatious offer, only one of many – most of which he'd yet to refuse, to follow her back into her hotel room. She raised an eyebrow, but gave him her half-knowing grin and waved him off from her suite. "There's always tomorrow." She winked.

"Morning." Kronos elaborated. "Tomorrow morning. I'll take you for coffee."

"Or later tonight if you change your mind…" She trailed off, eyes darting down the hall. Her voice left a question in it. "You don't _have_ to go."

He genuinely hesitated.

She laughed. "Go, you horny bastard. Do what you have to do." A wide smile. "I'll be here." She closed the door in his face.

And finally, he was ready to do his job.

The long anticipated mission at the hotel on Ambassador Street? Easier said than done. Walking through the back entrance to the kitchen was easy, the uniforms the hotel used in the kitchen were a standard dress available from most restaurant supply stores. White, pristine, plain. Sneaking up the elevator to the fourth floor went without a hitch – no guard would question room service. Come on? What? Killer steak? Poisoned latte? Forget it. He wasn't a Cold War era Russian super spy. No one was in the hall when Kronos crept across, knife tucked safely in his pocket, catering trolley bouncing gently against the carpeted floor.

Only problem?

There was, um… another assassination in progress. In the same room. At the same time. As in, right there – in front of Kronos. What the fuck?

The odds of that particularly extra shitTM?

Not good.

At least, Kronos didn't think so.

A raven-haired boy fought desperately to keep a man, whose back was to Kronos, from choking him. He'd fallen to his knees sometime during their struggle and had broken a probably rather expensive decorative vase in the tussle. It took him a moment, his mind still a little, well, stunned at the scene, but Kronos was finally able to recognize the blond man after that brief hiatus of gawking.

Jason was his name. Jason Grace, son of Zeus, brother of Thalia. Who was Thalia? Zeus', and let us be reminded that Zeus is current overlord of the universe, right handma- woman. A very high powered politician. Um. Well. Fuck. Kronos looked left and right like a cartoon-character – waiting for himself to realize there was no floor beneath him. Maybe there was still time to bail, Jason, and the boy Kronos didn't know, seemed pretty distracted in their fight, and didn't seem to have seen him. It was very possible he could just backtrack and slip out through the kitchen out to the alley. Right? Go back to Rhea and take her up on her offer. And he really wanted to take Rhea up on her offer. Sexy fucking bitch.

But no. The _moment_ he took that single step back towards the door – the two men froze like deer in headlights.

Jason's wild blue eyes, just like his father's, found Kronos lurking in the doorframe. The other man, black hair and green eyes that Kronos could see looked at him in seemed to be a mix of fear and hope. Trepidation had frozen their limbs. The room held its breath.

"Anyone order room service?" Kronos spouted. Then the tension snapped and the world exhaled – Jason released the black haired man to the floor – and laughed, fingers running through his hair.

"He must have, yeah." Jittered Jason nervously, "I was just leaving-" He cut himself off. "We were just wrestling, you know." He forced air through his chest out, still smiling too broadly. "Uh, yeah. Haha."

Sure, thought Kronos. He flashed the son of Zeus a toothy grin. "Of course, sir." The cart's empty dishes clanked and jumbled as Kronos moved it away from the doorframe. Jason slipped out, not being especially careful not to bump into Kronos, and the titan was left alone with the raven haired boy. He blinked at him from the floor for a moment, neither of them knowing how to broach the obvious elephant in the room. What does he do? Offer him a bottle water? It was cold and everything.

"Thanks." Started the boy, an uncomfortable chortle rising in his throat. Kronos guessed he was around nineteen, maybe his early twenties. Good-looking, fresh-faced, good skin, healthy. Raven colored hair was a mop on his head and his clothes were nicer than what most mortals could afford. Well-off then, and confident in himself if his stature had anything to say.

"...Sure." This wasn't has he'd expected. What now? Sorry to bother you, but I'm an assassin and I'm pretty sure someone hired me to kill you. Would you mind lying down or something to make my job easier? And he wouldn't get paid _at all_ if the intended victim had been Jason fucking Grace. What the hell had gotten himself into. He motioned vaguely to the trolly. "Room service? Wrong room, I suppose." I _hope_ , he thought.

The boy blinked at him for moment. Of course Kronos was trying to weasel his way out – what else could he do? He didn't really know who the intended target had been: Jason or Mr. Raven-hair here, and he wasn't going to bet twenty million credits on the off-chance he guessed right. Sometimes failure was the only option. He'd learned this the hard way.

He began to back towards the still open door.

"Kronos!" Boomed a masculine voice from behind him. He jumped. "I'm glad you came."

He turned, slowly, cautiously, and was not happy with what he saw.

Anxiety crawled up his body, in his stomach, through his spine. He thought bile was rising in his throat. A strong reaction? Maybe. But what the _hell_ had he gotten into? It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of water over him. Very cold water.

"Poseidon."

The sea god gave a careless smile. "Father," fuck, he hadn't expected that greeting, "this is my son, Percy." The demigod gave a breathless wave, rubbing his throat with a wince as though it already pained him. Bruises were sure to follow.

Kronos tapped his fingers against his thigh. "And? You hired me?"

Poseidon looked pleased with himself. "Yes."

"And what? You wanted me to kill Jason?"

The sea god looked thoughtful. "Among other things maybe, if it comes down to it. Jason's not much of a threat."

"He just tried to strangle your son."

Poseidon waved away his words with a flutter of his hand in the air. "No, no – that was a… an unusual case. He wasn't supposed to be here anyway."

"I see." He did not. The titan felt suspicion tugging at his gut unpleasantly. he remembered why he'd avoided the gods for so many years. Let this be done quickly so he could go and be with Rhea. "Why am I here then?"

"A proposition."

"I'm… sorry?"

Poseidon spread his arms wide. "Look," he boomed. Kronos blinked. "Look at what Zeus has done. The world is in ruins," the world is _always_ in ruins, thought the titan, "and mortals scuttle around the gutters of the worlds like rats." This had the disgusting tinge of a rehearsed speech. Kronos sighed internally. "We," here he motioned to his son and then to himself, "plan on re-ordering the world. Freeing mortals from their cages and making man and god equal."

"And..." Kronos chose his words carefully. The sooner he diffused this, the sooner he could go home, back to Rhea. Even he was a stunned how one track a scheme his mind had settled into since she'd waltzed in. Who cares? He'd long since dismissed the idea of receiving his payment. He tapped his fingers. "How do you plan to do that?" _Fucking A_ , Kronos, he scolded himself. Sure, let's tempt him with possibility of more speeches.

Poseidon nodded, arms crossing his chest like he'd expected the question. Look at this, the god was all puffed up like a good peacock. Oh boy, thought Kronos, here we go. "That's where you come i-"

"Me?"

Vague annoyance at the interruption, "Yes, you." Too long a pause between the phrases, testing him perhaps. "I plan to hire, and _aid_ you, in taking out key figures in the Olympian government-"

"Your government, you mean."

"N-" Poseidon pursed his lips. His nostrils flared just minutely. "No. _Zeus'_ government. No more brothels on every street corner, no more tired children begging for credits, no more-"

"I get it."

Poseidon huffed. "Then you understand why we _need_ your help." Need. A politician, indeed. Kronos licked his lips.

"Why would I help you?"

The king of the sea seemed floored Kronos would even ask such a question. "I-" another sharp exhale. Good, smiled Kronos, it was nice to know he was still annoying. Poseidon regained his composure. "Because," he smiled here, like it was a good joke between them. "I'm _paying_ you."

"Paying." Kronos echoed.

"Of course," and back again was the jaunty disposition, the laid-back attitude of Poseidon. A flash of white teeth in his smile. "You thought twenty million credits was good?"

Kronos raised an eyebrow.

"Consider it your signing bonus. I'll pay fifty million for every confirmed kill." His bushy eyebrows pushed up on his forehead. The titan stared at his son for a moment and tried to truly see him. He'd grown handsome, he supposed grudgingly, with sun-bleached brown hair and deep mossy green eyes. Skin was weathered kindly, crinkles around the eyes and wrinkles around his mouth. Small scars on his fingers. Signs of a happy life. He could see Rhea in Poseidon. He thought that might be a good thing.

"No." He said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"What?"

"No. I won't take the job." He held up his hand to silence Poseidon's stuttering. " _Don't worry_ ," he stressed this harshly, "I won't tell your brother about your coup."

"It's not-"

"I don't want to have anything to do with this, Poseidon. Not your plans, not your brother's plans, _none_ of it. Leave me alone."

"Kronos." Poseidon said as his father moved to the door. " _Kronos_." Poseidon jumped in front the titan's path, the bottom of his neck at his father's eye level. The god of the sea had never known just how _small_ Kronos was. His left hand pushed on the door until the lock clicked. "Listen to me."

Kronos narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not hiring you because you're a good assassin."

"Which I am."

Poseidon glowered. "Yes, fine. You are. _But_ ," he paused, "you were a _good_ king."

Silence. Percy shifted on his toes from his position by the couch.

He could feel the ploy. He knew, the pathos the fucker was invoking to pull at his heartstrings. It was obvious, yeah, but it didn't stop his ear from twitching up slightly, didn't stop his pupils from dilating a little. His body turning towards him, just a touch.

"I want you to help me reshape the world, back to what it was, to the Golden Age. People believe in this, Kronos. My son, his friends, mortals, gods, _Thalia_ believes in it. The daughter of Zeus for Gaia's sake-"

Kronos watched him ramble. He would not lie to himself, it sounded good. Like a dream. But, of course, that's what it was. Idealism. A false hope that men deluded themselves into believing when they committed atrocities against other people. He'd experienced that effect of grandeur enough to know when he saw it. Perhaps a younger man would have seen this start, this commission, as a chance to make the world better. He'd always had a revolutionary spirit, an innate drive to do better, at least, so Rhea had told him. He'd felt just a robust drive to live before the first Great War. To run, to laugh, to make everything he saw just that much _better_. How wonderful that'd been. Perhaps if Kronos was younger, if Poseidon were talking to a Kronos from a thousand years ago, he'd say yes.

But he wasn't, obviously, this was Kronos now. His voice was tight.

"I said no."

And that was that.


	2. Act Two

ACT TWO

 **ONE**

" _your grace is wasted in your face, your boldness stands alone among the wreck"_

-little lion man, mumford and sons

"Rhea?" He asked an empty corridor. Pitch black shadows cast eerily oblong shapes onto the carpeted hotel floors. The main door to her suite had been left ajar and made a horror-movie squeak when he pushed it open. Kronos took a hesitant step. "Rhea?"

Still no reply.

The hotel was dark, but small, so through the moonlight streaming through the window, Kronos could see her bed, still made. Her dresser was where it had been late last night when he had been with her, the bathroom door still just slightly agape. A little kitchenette seemed unkempt, berries and yogurt from their breakfast just left on the countertop, as he remembered. Clothes on the floor. Bathroom towel hung on the door.

But Rhea?

An uneasy feeling gnawed at his stomach. Why exactly had he left her? Somehow a lazy morning together lounging in bed had bled into him deciding he needed to "work." He'd been gone only for a couple of hours, only one with Agata. A couple in the Hall of Records.

"Babe?" He croaked, voice losing its strength. He paused almost, at himself. Had he really resorted to such… mortal nicknames for her? By Gaia.

His eyes snapped closed as the light clicked on. He almost staggered backward. The blaring light was in sharp comparison to the deep dark of the night. A chuckle. His ear twitched towards the noise. Eyelids slivered open. He focused.

A man in a fine pinstripe suit, pants freshly pressed and ankles crossed over each other, sat in the plush chair in the corner. His nails were manicured, Kronos noted, and he wore three rings on his fingers. He knew him, of course. Everyone did. From television, from the papers. From their story books.

Zeus.

The king of Olympus drummed his fingers against the armrest. "Father." Was the smooth, calm voice he started with. Thick like honey, dripping with false promises already. Kronos remembered why he never watched the Sunday speeches in front the rebuilt Parthenon. The sheer amount of sleazy oozing off his ostentatious presentation made bile rise to his throat.

The words felt disgusting on his tongue. "My child."

First Poseidon. Now Zeus. Who next? Hestia? Hera? Please not Hera. Anyone but Hera. Kronos licked his chapped lips and tapped his foot where he stood – arms folded across his chest. Closed. His eyes scanned his surroundings. Alone. At least, he hoped they were alone. He knew the bedroom had another bath inside it, completely concealed from his view. Someone could be there. Nothing like more Olympian goons to ruin his already destroyed day.

Enough crap. Zeus knew whose room he was in, how could he not? No point in concealing the obvious. "Where's Rhea?"

Zeus smiled, skin deepening wrinkles in an entirely different way than Poseidon's had. His eyes were pressed hard instead of kind and mouth set into a natural frown instead of a smile. When he spoke, his skin stretched unflatteringly over his jawbone. "She's fine – I thought she deserved better accommodation, don't you?"

"You're not funny."

Zeus, ironically perhaps, laughed. "Ah, I'm sure I'm not." His eyes gleamed in the florescent light of the hotel room, blue, wet, and repulsive. Unlike his brother Poseidon, Zeus had not had such a… cheery life. Stained red cheeks told Kronos alcohol, and the bloated stomach his suit was desperately trying to hide agreed. Hands looked soft and clean, but thick fingers and purple bruises around his wrists showed sickness. His skin laden with small bumps and grooves. Kronos stepped back when he rose from his chair.

"Thalia." His voice was a rasp, "Come here, my love."

A girl, with hair black and spiky and her makeup heavy around her eyes, padded out of the bedroom, as Kronos had feared, hands in pockets. She was dressed in antiques of years past, converse – black, of course – an _American Idiot_ t-shirt with silver hair clips across her scalp. The tips of her hair told the titan she'd once dyed them an electric blue. Kronos recognized her as Zeus' unofficial second-in-command; a bastard child of him and some television actress that'd died an early, predictable death after the birth of her second child. Car crash. He'd forgotten her name. Thalia was chewing gum loudly. The king of the skies smiled at his daughter as she stood beside him.

"You've heard, I suppose," a lazy flick under his nail, "that Poseidon is planning a revolt."

"Oh, yes." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "It's all over the street…" he paused for a compulsory roll of his eyes – teeth grit, "Rhea, Zeus. That's all I care about. I'm not serving Poseidon."

Zeus chuckled. "Yes, I know you're not. In fact, I know all about the meeting on Ambassador Street – I suppose we can thank my son for his clever surveillance." A twinge of annoyance across his cheeks. But then, his skin pulled over his teeth again – Kronos supposed it passed for a smile – albeit in a sick one. He wondered how someone was beautiful as Rhea had had the misfortune to create _this_. The titan blamed himself for whatever gene defect had made this ugly fuck. Zeus' hand pat his bloated belly, returning Kronos to the present. "You're working for me."

"Not to my knowledge I'm not."

Zeus scoffed, and expression that suited him. "Here's the deal, titan. Three kills," he waved his hand at the wrist, around in a circle, "and I give Rhea back to you. Fail to do so…" He shrugged. "Well, best not fail. Simple enough, no?"

Kronos was reminded of their last deal, actually the last time he'd spoken to Zeus all those millennia ago, the one he'd made to save the titans. At that time, the titan had been in a very similar compromising, uncomfortable position he was in now: forced to make a deal that was not suitable to him. But what were his alternatives? Refuse? And lose Rhea? He'd lost her once already; how hard could it be for him to do his job? He didn't care about three more deaths, really, he just wanted Rhea back. So take it. He hesitated. Maybe he should have just agreed to work for Poseidon. At least he'd be getting paid. The last time he and Zeus had danced this dance, he'd made Zeus promise on Rhea, because Kronos had thought no one would have the utter audacity to cross their own mother's good name, but now – he wasn't so sure. He didn't know Styx to be faithful – a sellout goddess like all the others – and he didn't know what kind of _thing_ stood before him in that hideous suit. Far better to deal with an honest criminal than a shady businessman. He clenched his fist.

"Swear it."

Zeus laughed, bleached teeth gleaming. "On Rhea?"

"On your lust for power."

Seemed almost right.

His eyes darkened. "What a ridiculous thing to say."

Kronos held his gaze. "I want you to swear it on something true."

Too much air was hot between them. Kronos did not waver. Zeus did not waver. Neither held their breath. Thalia popped a bubble in her gum, blue eyes slivering over to her father.

Zeus snorted, an ugly sound surely, but one that signaled to Kronos agreement – that he'd won this round.

"I swear it."

"Who do I kill?"

 **TWO**

He'd been given meager instructions. Really, genuinely awful.

"Go home."

Really? Thanks, Zeus.

When he'd returned to his apartment in Plaka – he'd found it tossed. Of course. He had nothing to hide there actually, but he assumed Zeus had ordered it done more to prove a point than anything. That the titan couldn't keep secrets. Kronos thought the practice was pointless – he wanted Rhea back. What did he care of his sons' conflict? What could an essentially powerless titan do against an Olympian anyway? He rummaged through what had once been an icebox he'd kept beside his kitchen – for a beer, obviously – which though he was sure he had one left, it did not seem to be where he'd left it. Fuckers took his beer. In his flat, his furnace still hummed brutally against the murmurs of the city below.

He'd never really liked the apartment, but at least it had a separate bedroom and private bathroom – that already put it miles ahead of his last one. Electricity was a plus too. He lived on the third floor, consequently the top floor of the apartment complex, in the room farthest from the staircase and to the left. It was a brick building, poor planning for a city as warm and dry as Athens, and had been fitted with a completely unnecessary space heater nearly fifty years earlier. The kitchen, a minimal counter against one wall in the living room, had been freshly remodeled: a new chic, metal microwave, a refrigerator that blended in with the wood of his cabinets, and with an induction stove that squeaked enough to give him a headache when he used it. Amber, his aforementioned ex-girlfriend, had designed it and had it fitted a month after they'd moved in together. Now, everything he'd had in his cabinets was now on his floor. His couch was overturned and through the door into his bedroom, his comforter was hanging on the window sill beside his mattress, which had been slit open. His toiletries just seemed to be gone.

What remained was a single leaflet of nice stationary paper propped up against his pillow – which by some twisted feat of nature had remained untouched. He took it into his hand and folded open the note. In a fancy scrawl:

 _To meet, sixth floor across from Ambassador Hotel._

 _When you're ready._

No beer meant no point in hanging around here. He tucked the note into his pocket, secured the belt of his waistcoat around himself, and again – set into the cold night.

 **She was waiting for him** in the new luxury apartments across from Ambassador Street. The sixth floor, to which he'd climbed the stairs, had only one door for one flat. A penthouse – two storied in nature – with a kitchen larger than his entire living room.

She sat at the marble breakfast bar, sipping on his single remaining beer.

"This is shit." She greeted as he stood in the foyer.

"It's cheap."  
A sour expression. "Tastes like piss."

"It's _beer_."

She slurped another gulp and leaned back in the chair. It was quiet for a moment whilst she made a face at the taste. She swallowed. "You'll be staying here now, courtesy Lord Zeus."

Kronos glowered. "And I suppose you're going to say I don't have a choice."

"Correct."

He exhaled, but didn't argue. Why should he? This was leagues more "hip" than his home. Hell, what if he could fry something without gritting his teeth at the sound of his stove? That would be good. Either way, might as well enjoy it – let Zeus waste his money.

"Your toiletries and all are already here. Would've brought your pictures too, if you'd had any."

"So you're the one who ransacked my apartment?"

"You call that an apartment?"

He raised an eyebrow, but changed the subject. "I'm assuming you work for Zeus?"

She grinned. "Haven't I introduced myself? I'm Athena, daughter of Zeus."

So. This was the infamous Athena. He might have recognized her, if not by the dark hair covering her face by her startlingly gray eyes – but the titan tried to avoid anything politics, so he didn't. Kronos stuffed his hands in his jean's pockets. "And I'm assuming you're here to do more than be my welcome comity?"

A laughed. "Of course." She rose from her chair, legs long and gray dress clinging in very attractive ways around her hips. Kronos wouldn't deny it; she looked the part of a goddess. A couple more sultry steps toward him and the titan decided she wasn't actually all that pretty, only that she walked and held herself with the confidence of someone who was not used to failure. Or refusal. Kronos tilted his head.

Athena wordlessly held out a note – written on the same yellowed parchment he'd found in his flat. He could see an inscription inside the leaflet, of course, but he didn't read it until Athena had flounced about some more – and departed – leaving him alone.

He sat at his new marble breakfast bar. The letter was sparse, as the other had been, but was clear in its message:

 _Lower-side Plaka. Supply chain manager of Olympus Firms._

 _Hazel Levesque._

 **THREE**

Another run at someone in his own neighborhood – and in the same month no less. Kronos was beginning to feel like a careless amateur. But, he supposed, if Zeus himself was ordering the hits, he didn't really need to fear prison. He cleaned his knife with bleach, handle and blade, and left it to dry on some fresh paper toweling in his new kitchen. And then? He ate an apple.

What? Not everything in his life went epically wrong.

He'd located Ms. Hazel Levesque, alright, and already – he had his suspicions. A pretty girl, of course; chocolate-y, curly hair and eyes like warm honey. She was highly educated, with a bachelor's in something like archeology, but worked in a medium sized factory distribution center that had little to do with her degree. Which was a little weird, but it was her father, or lack of one, that made Kronos paused. Because he was pretty sure it she was the daughter of his eldest son Hades. Something about her: her jawline maybe, or her smile, or maybe the sheer fact that Kronos could see no reason at all that Zeus might want her dead.

Expect to perhaps dissuade Hades from joining Poseidon's growing rebel cause.

Hmm.

And as much as Kronos internally loathed killing innocents – he usually made a point to morally judge his victims first, not that it justified his actions, but it did make him feel better – this was Rhea on the line. His _wife_. His wife who he'd not been with since before the time of recorded history.

Sorry, my maybe granddaughter.

Besides, it's not like it would be the first time he killed someone who didn't deserve it.

He thought it was almost funny, really, how after thousands of years without her it'd only taken a month, fuck _less_ than a month, for him to decide he could no longer live without her. Gross and mushy, sure, stupidly fucking romantic, but true nonetheless. He wanted his Rhea back.

So then, Kronos, he chided himself, you want her? Time to focus.

Okay. What was important from his research then, besides her interesting yet utterly useless degree? She was a trained martial-artist for starters, which might cause minor issue. However, although his magic had been taken from him centuries ago, he _was_ still a titan, and wasn't really that worried about some mortal girl over powering him. He hoped it wouldn't be his downfall. She lived in a surprisingly swanky apartment for someone so young – though still in Plaka. More importantly, she lived alone. And so, here he was, sitting in a cafe across from her building, wondering what the hell sort of complex in _Plaka_ of all places had an actual, honest-to-Chaos doorman. And operational security cameras. For Gaia's sake, the fucker even had brass buttons on his uniform.

He drummed his fingers across the metal wire table. He had a black coffee in a paper cup in front of him, which he'd barely touched and a raisin scone that felt like a brick, which he'd not touched at all.

"More coffee, love?" Said a waitress with long lashes and hair in a messy bun. Oily strands hung down around her neck, trying to hide day-old hickies.

"No." Kronos replied, eyes flickering down to his clearly still full cup. "No, thank you."

She smiled and hovered at his table side longer than she had to. A subconscious tuck of her hair behind her ear, a lick at her red-painted lips. "Anything you need..." She let it trail, her words and her eyes.

"I'll let you know." Kronos said tightly. He smiled, lips pressed together.

She winked as she left.

He shuddered.

Focus.

Hazel's apartment certainly didn't have the tightest security regiment he'd encountered, not by a long shot; but he found himself hesitant nonetheless. Normally, the way these things go, he doesn't know his client, doesn't care, and the client doesn't know him. Sometimes he researched his mark's personal life just to internally judge them like the asshole he was. Generally speaking, assholes usually only wanted other assholes dead. This particular system of anonymity often made for a universal win-win situation. Somehow made him feel like he had the moral high-ground. Didn't know anyone involved – just in it for the money. It was clean in his gloriously black and white world. Such was his thinking. In this case, he knew why he was killing – and he felt a hell of a lot more like a solider than was overtly comfortable. Why was a contract assassin better than a mercenary? Good question, and not one Kronos could answer with actual logical support and facts. But, it was, of that he was sure. He'd done both, in his long lifetime, and had parted ways from serving anyone besides himself. Idealism had killed the titans, surely it couldn't serve anyone else much better.

He was bouncing away from this girl like he actually cared about her well-being. Which he didn't. And shouldn't. Rhea was on the line. Let that be his mantra. He tapped his finger against his plate. Anyway, he was a fucking contract killer, right? Had been for years. Just because the girl was related to him didn't mean much. Hell, _most_ people in Greece were probably related to him.

Zeus.

So, fuck it.

He tucked his pastry into its paper bag and left the cafe.

Later that night, nibbling on his now cooled and slightly more soggy scone, he read more about his next victim. How? Social media. Yes, really. _Facebook_ : people don't know when to stop. Now, he did this under the pretense of "research:" in reality, he wanted to feel better about himself by trying to make himself hate her as quickly as possible.

It wasn't working.

Top of her class at her high school back in her homeland, the United States. Of course she was. Homecoming court princess – which, as Kronos found with a quick _Google_ search, was actually a thing – finished her college degree a year early thanks to classes at the local city college. Now worked as a supply chain manager, which he knew, handling precious stone, which he hadn't. Apparently, she had a knack for finding them – gems that is – and had been hired by Olympus firms to locate potential new dig sites straight out of university. She made money, but was appropriately sensible, and saved it. She had no children, and no spouse, but had a Canadian boyfriend, Frank, who lived back in the United States. They were far apart, because he was taking care of sick distant relatives, but she didn't cheat. She'd been in Greece for less than a year. Liked dogs. Volunteered at the city garden park in central Athens; yes, the one with a shit ton of dogs. Who could hate someone who takes care of fucking _puppies_ in their free time? He was a titan, not a monster… though he'd found throughout the years of watching his now estranged family parade desperate mortals on their arms only to throw them away when a newer model came in, those weren't necessarily mutually exclusive. But, fucking _puppies_.

It was the next morning when he stopped mopping about. He'd already acquired the blueprints to her apartment complex and memorized them, already learned which bodyguard was most susceptible to "forgetfulness," already stolen her work schedule and heard from an overly chatty co-worker she usually stayed late. He'd already cleaned his knife.

Rhea was waiting.

It ended up being one of the easier jobs he'd ever done. He'd slipped in the door wearing a keffiyeh and leather gloves – claiming he was visiting a friend. The doorman shrugged. Turned his head from the cameras that were exactly were the blueprints said they would be. Then it was up the staircase and through her door to wait. He watched a neighbor chat in the hallway for awhile before making his way to her door. He jimmied the door open with a rudimentary bump key as quickly, as quietly, as he could, and slipped inside.

That day, she'd worked an hour overtime, and was overdue an hour thirty when her key turned the lock in her front door. Kronos was perched in her small entryway, not really bothering to hide himself. The moment she opened the door, he would be obscured from any nosy neighbors by the door itself. He'd already taken care to slide closed the curtains over facing the window onto the street and nearby building. It was dark, and he was being to feel a little cold when she opened the door.

She lifted her arms above her head and yawned after she'd thrown her keys onto the little table she kept wedged in the corner opposite Kronos. She hadn't seen him yet.

Fiercely, quickly, quietly – he closed her door behind her, not wanting to cause a scene that would attract unwanted attention – and before her startled gasp could be heard, wrapped his arm around her and secured her nose and mouth. She thrashed, obviously as she should, but only for a second. It took Kronos that second to bring the knife up in his left hand and drag it deeply into the shallows of her throat. Poor thing didn't stand a prayer. Crimson blood poured from her neck and she fell slack in his arms. He'd severed the jugular and her windpipe. Kronos supposed you could say she was dead before she hit the floor, but no. He didn't let her drop. The blood felt warm as it soaked through the leather of his gloves. He carried her to the center of her living room and lay her on her very modern, thick, gray patterned rug. To catch her blood from soaking into the floorboards. He tied a washcloth around her wound and from his pocket drew a bronze obol, which he slipped beneath her tongue. She wasn't special in this regard. Kronos wasn't much for superstition, but he didn't relish the whole idea of mortal shades wandering around helplessly. He'd never met Charon personally, but he knew his father Erebus, and he wouldn't put it past an Olympian supporter to leave souls to rot for a century. At least, if they must die, let them go home.

He turned away. And stopped himself. Sighed. Her body was still very warm when his fingers brushed her scalp through his gloves, braiding her hair neatly behind her ears. He drew her eyelids down over her glassy brown eyes. Positioned her nicely although her body had begun to stiffen a little: hands interlaced over her stomach, legs straight. He didn't know where the sudden obsession in making her look honorable in death had come from. Maybe he couldn't leave his granddaughter laying on the floor, dragged from where she'd had her throat slit. Perhaps, Kronos conceded, she was a little special.

Seriously? What was wrong with him? He was going to blame Rhea, for whatever it was. This empathy shit.

Fuck.

"Goodbye, Hazel."

He wiped everything in the room – as a precaution – he knew hadn't left prints, and climbed down her camera-less fire escape. No one was in the alley behind her building. Easy. A couple blocks away, in the trashcan behind a random house in an opposite direction from his new apartment, he threw away his keffiyeh and a few more random paces from that, he abandoned his gloves, jacket, and shoes. He tore his pant-legs away and the sleeves from his shirt, and pulled his hair behind his ears in a tight bun – secured with a rubber band. If anything, he looked like a dead-beat beachcomber; one of the Greek ones that lurked around, scoping out half-naked Swedish girls. Yes, they really existed. And no, it wasn't really a look he liked going for, but useful in a pinch, he supposed. If he headed towards the beach looking this way, and no Greek policeman would bat an eye at an under dressed twenty-something year old Greek man, he could buy some touristy shirt and colorful flip-flops and call it a day. Why the ridiculous get up at the beach? Something about traveling, tourists somehow lose control of not only their money, but their sense of taste too. Poorly dressed, happy, tired people polluted the hotels of Ambassador Street. Rainbow flip-flops and an "I love Athens" t-shirt? Perfect. He'd blend right in. You'd think he had something against tourists, the way he berated them constantly. The contrary. He loved tourists. He'd always found that people, no matter where you went or where they were from, were in fact people when it all boiled down to it. No one was as "different" as they thought. But the _shit_ people do on vacation. Absolutely comedy-gold. No exceptions. Call it his philosophy.

Kronos bought an ice cream on the beach from a cart vendor before he left. It was cold, the night was cold, and the freezing treat settled his turning stomach. He went back to his apartment when the sun was setting and dialed the number Athena had left encoded for him on the landline.

The line had no answering machine message for him, just a harsh beep that signaled he should speak.

"Done. Awaiting further instruction."

Kronos missed the phone's dock when his hand went to put it away. Shaking. And his breathing wasn't right. His heart was racing. He swallowed harshly.

"Get a grip." He told himself. "Just call it a night."

 **FOUR**

He was still fuckin' sleeping when she broke into his apartment.

Well, no. Not sleeping, per se. But he _was_ a little tired. And he hadn't brushed his hair yet. Kronos was walking into his kitchen much closer to naked than anyone other than Rhea should ever have the right to see, hoping to make breakfast for himself. Athena had already helped herself to _his_ coffee and one of _his_ fruits and was sitting on one of _his_ stools at _his_ breakfast bar adjoining the kitchen. Perhaps he'd finally embraced the place as his own.

"What the fuck?" He snatched the half eaten apple from her hand. She raised her eyebrow and wiped her hand back and forth across each other, a disposition of perfect "I don't care" across her face.

She sighed. "I was enjoying that."

"You already took my beer."

"Why aren't you clothed? And it was shit anyway – I did you a favor."

He ignored her. "Why are you in my kitchen?"

Another perfectly poised eyebrow. "I do believe you're the one who claimed you were," she raised her hand in little air quotes – punctuating Kronos' annoyance with every word, ""done" and "awaiting further instruction.""

"Fine. Give them and go."

She snorted, and beneath the marble, crossed her ankles in the other direction. "First, you should know we disposed of Levesque's corpse, very tidy of you to watch the blood flow..." She paused. "Are you listening?"

"No, I'm jacking off. See? I'm naked and everything."

She tutted like, Kronos noted, a fucking bird, but continued as though she hadn't heard him. "This particular job is special." She dipped her chin down, so he could see directly into her gray eyes. He huffed in irritation when she waited for confirmation.

" _Okay_."

"Thalia Grace."

He almost didn't believe he'd heart correctly. "What?"

She drummed her fingers. "I said-"

"No, no. I heard you, but did you say _Thalia Grace_?"

"Are you deaf-"

"Are you joking?"

"Of course not." She hissed.

Kronos shook his head and tore open his refrigerator door. A single serving of plain yogurt left in a large container, cranberry juice – when the fuck did he buy that? – and three eggs, one of them hard-boiled. Time for the store. Time for her to _leave_. He took the yogurt and cut the rest of the apple Athena had started into it. He sat on his countertop in front of her while he ate.

"I'll bite." He said.

He saw her eyes flick up from his lower abdomen, to chest, to his face very quickly. "Excuse me?"

"Why?"

A blank stare. Her cheeks were tinged pink. He would have pretended not to notice her eyes trailing his body, but she was much too obvious. Kronos sighed. Virgins. He rephrased. "Why Thalia?"

She smirked – immediately regaining her composure now that she could claim an air of knowledgeable superiority. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is she dies and that no one knows it was you."

"Really."

"Well," she considered his statement a moment. "No, not really. So long as it doesn't get back to us, it doesn't matter to us at all if you get caught."

That was more like it. "So I can assume if I do get caught, which I won't, I shouldn't hold my breath for you to bail me out?"

She laughed, a hollow sound, void of humor. "Probably best."

Kronos snorted and chewed a chuck of apple with his mouth open – mostly, well, okay – entirely to annoy Athena. He would have grinned ear-to-ear at her repulsed expression if it wouldn't have given him away. He didn't think his state of dress was helping their already rocky relationship much either.

Good.

Leave, woman.

"Then?" He said.

Athena rose from his table and reached into a leather handbag she'd left on the floor. She pulled an envelope from it and handed it to him.

He was still chewing when he asked, "What's this?"  
"You'll see." She shrugged the bag over her shoulder. "Let us know when its done."

'You're sure it wasn't some other Thalia Grace?"

She glared.

"It's a common name," his teeth showing in his grin.

She paced to the front door of the flat.

Oh look. It's working.

"I don't want to get in trouble for your mistake." He called after her.

"It's not a mistake." She snipped coolly, without turning back. "Do your job."

His door clicked shut behind her.

He remembered the letter in his hand, the thought of it jarring into his mind only when he looked to set it down. In his kitchen drawer he had his knife, dulled from centuries of misuse, that he used as a letter opener. It caught on the thick parchment, where a single leaflet rested inside the envelope. White paper, clearly lettered in the back with the ominous message:

 _1/3_

It didn't take a genius, really. He flipped the paper in his palms. He sucked in a quick gulp of air. It was Rhea in a dark, indistinguishably plain room. Gray walls, small, gray-framed window somewhere above her head. She held the canonical newspaper in front of her chest, timestamped in its top right corner with the current date. She looked unhappy, but physically unharmed. He stared at it longer than it took him to understand it and then he slipped the paper behind his pillow. He made his bed.

Then he got dressed.

 **FIVE**

Thalia. Fucking. Grace. Daughter of Zeus. Second in command of the modern state of Greece, an absolute hard-ass in just about every foreseeable circumstance, sister of Jason – another badass in his own right – and just an all-round _well-known_ person. Smart assassins generally don't go after well-known people. Leave that to the overly passionate and the insane.

And yet, here we are. Kronos had no choice in this one, not if he wanted Rhea back the "easy way." And really. He was a titan, for crying out loud. One striped of every power he'd ever possessed save his inherent right to live forever, yes, but a titan even still. What was the worst that could happen to him? Prison? For how long? Until the mortals forgot about him? That wouldn't take long. Tartarus, then? Really only Zeus could imprison someone into Tartarus… Would Zeus cast him to Tartarus simply to maintain appearances?

Yes, decided Kronos. Of course he would.

But even that couldn't last forever. He'd never been overly patient as a child, but millennia of living with mortals had vigorously trained his resilience. He could bide his time if he had to. It was all circumstantial anyway – it only pertained if he got caught. And he was Kronos. He wasn't going to get caught.

All this self-bolstering – which Kronos will admit he did while drinking yet another coffee, though this time at home alone – did not answer the question he really wanted answered.

Why Thalia?

The aforementioned accolades normally would make her a shining example of someone Zeus desperately would want to have beside him. Or so Kronos thought. Kronos would certainly want someone was capable as her. What then? Perhaps she was winning the favor of the mortals quicker than Zeus himself was. Like it or not, gods drew their sources of power from mortals. Was it possible for them to blow up the Earth and raise the dead? Of course, but any self-respecting Olympian god didn't care about their own actual ability – they wanted people to adore them. You need mortals for that. It seemed almost plausible to Kronos, in a sorta fucked up way, that Zeus was frightened by Thalia's ever growing popularity.

He pondered over this, maybe for another ten minutes as he finished up breakfast. And then he yawned, stretched, and set his bowl in the sink. It didn't really matter did it? Why Zeus wanted his own daughter dead.

So then, Thalia, Kronos thought to himself almost maniacally. He couldn't help the sliver of a smile. Where do you like to hide?

 **Well, it wasn't at the dog** park like Hazel's haven had been. Nor was it anywhere near the city center. In fact, Kronos had to take a tram to the train station to find Thalia's hide-hole. Of course, when he got there – he stuck out like a sore thumb. Not because he had a knife strapped to his side, no – that was concealed, but because he was literally the only man in the room.

It took him awhile to notice, actually. At first, Kronos just walked into the room without hesitation – it was a public building after all – but a moment later he noticed more than one scared set of eyes focused on him. The first girl he noticed was a teenager, younger looking and round in the face, she sat cross-legged on the floor with a quilt over her shoulders. Her eyes, brown, were wide and fearful, and she drew her blanket tighter around her shoulders. Kronos' furrowed his brow.

Was she scare of _him_? What? All five foot eight of his intimidating manliness? Gods, maybe he was a hundred seventy pounds _dripping_ wet. _Please_. He'd decided awhile ago it's what made him a good assassin. Who would suspect someone who looked like a _Hobbit_ extra? Not him.

The second set of eyes were not scared as the first had been. They were fierce and they were a brilliant blue.

"Can I help you?" The annoyed drone came out. A girl, hands on hips, scowl on her face stood before him. He wasn't very tall, much to his chagrin, but this girl was absolutely puny. Maybe she reached the base of this throat, but he doubted it. A streak of dyed hair was stark in contract against her raven locks. Thalia was shorter than he remembered from the night he'd seen her at the hotel, but he wasn't stupid enough to allow that to cause doubt in her ability. He'd heard the stories. The many, many stories.

"Can I help you?" She repeated, a little more forcefully. Her index finger was picking at a silver painted nail. She wore at least four rings.

"I'm lost," he said stupidly. Kronos shrugged and put on his best non-committal grin – hands tucked in pockets. No, it wasn't his best save – but it would have to do. "I was trying to find the train station."

Thalia sized him up and she didn't bother to hide it. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She thrust her head suddenly to the left. "That way." And she turned from him.

"Wait, um-" he smiled innocently. His finger wagged around in the air as he asked. "I was wondering, what is this place?"  
"When did you say your train left?"

He backpedaled, handed stuffed in his pocket. He could feel his knife waiting for him in his coat pocket, but killing Thalia now, eyes all over him and the girl glaring murder? No, no. "Oh, um, sorry for bothering you." He'd always found people find others less threatening when they stutter. It was a horrendously idiotic assumption and he played it for all it was worth.

"Hm." She licked her lips. He noticed, though he cast his gaze down, her eyes were painted heavily with clotted mascara. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

He tilted his head to the side – chin jutting up a little – dropped his shoulders, deliberately unclenched his hands and cast his eyes up – but not at her. He was going for an innocent, fumbling moron. Call it channeling his brother Krios. "No, I don't think so."

"Your eyes look familiar."

He gave her a bemused smile. "My eyes?" Oh, he knew. His one distinct feature. Brilliantly, golden-y, amber-y eyes. One of very, very few reasons he was _unsuitable_ to be an assassin.

She bought his ruse, somewhat unbelievably. And it wasn't hard to figure out – despite Thalia's lack of response and useless directions – what the building was for. It said on a poster just outside the building.

 _Aegis_

 _All Women Welcome_

The sign was worn in the corners and edges – with dirt and pre-historic water damage. The icon of Medusa's head etched into a shield was plastered above it in greening bronze. Kronos stood there a moment longer than he needed to. Thalia worked in a women's shelter in her spare time. Of course she did. Fuck. Hazel had taken care of homeless dogs and what? Thalia's a saint for abused women? Only he would have the shitty luck of having to kill two of the few selfless people left in this world.  
He stewed and stormed and brooded like a child, but only for a moment. Something caught is attention and like a dog with a death wish, he edged closer to it. He heard it before he saw it.

 _Drip, drip, drip_

A drainage pipe leading down from the ceiling of the shelter had sprung a leak just before it reached the spout at the bottom. It pooled in a small mirror of clear rainwater beneath the awning. Normally, no problem. A leaking drainage pipe? What's new? But this was Greece, and although it was just outside of Athens were Kronos lived, he knew – it hadn't rained. In weeks. Someone must have intentionally let water there. Why? When you found a leak, you _fixed_ it. That shit was expensive. Kronos crept toward it. And suddenly it made sense. It was hard to see, but behind the pipe, a small leather pouch was tucked securely underneath a thin layer of dirt. Kronos reached for it.

Three drachma. An obol. A map of the tram system of Athens, with the station beside Ambassador Street circled in red pen. A small charm in the unmistakable shape of trident. The water dribbling from the pipe made for clear means of messaging through water, _to_ water.

Thalia was a spy.

To Kronos, this was an outstanding revelation that put _so much_ into perspective. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Because Thalia was the perfect minion: it'd never even begun to cross Kronos' mind that she could be working for Poseidon. Though, clearly, _evidently_ , she was. That being said, Zeus obviously already knew. Why else would he want Thalia, his aforementioned "perfect minion" dead? He was almost giddy with this news.

So then, what did it mean for Kronos? For Rhea? All elation gone in a moment. Absolutely nothing at all. He still had to "complete the mission," still had to kill Thalia. Nothing had changed. He slipped the small pouch into his coat pocket, as though it would make any difference, and set away from Thalia's women's shelter.

 **SIX**

Plan A would have been a lot easier. The shelter was run-down, unguarded, and the only witnesses might have been some petrified women, who'd earlier been afraid to talk to the unassuming Kronos – much less an actual police officer. Perfect: cut and dry. But no. Maybe three years ago, Kronos might have just killed her there anyway, but he knew it was Rhea that had reborn that nagging little influence in the back of his mind. You can't just kill their only protector in front of them, it whispered, it will destroy them to see their only defense fall. They've suffered enough. Only kill one woman.

"Shuddup," Kronos grumbled to it, as he paced his living room, bare feet digging into the plush carpet. He hated that Zeus could afford such nice things as though they were nothing.

"I haven't said anything yet."

He jumped.

"Athena."

She regarded him coolly from her perch at his breakfast bar. "You're dressed today."

"This is getting old," was his dry comment. Her sour expression didn't change.

"Zeus is curious as to why Thalia was present at today's meeting."

"Doesn't she work for him?" The hint of a smile.

She glowered. "You know what I mean."

"I'm working on it."

Manicured fingers pulled at something inside her cut blazer. An envelope that she placed on his marble table, nails dragging across it making just the slightest sound. The quiet of the room gave it the gravitas of a wreaking ball. Athena cleared her throat. "Consider this incentive to work on it harder."

He waited until she'd slipped through his front door, heels clicking against the hardwood fading out – how had he not heard her enter? - before he warily approached his own table. His memory wasn't _that_ short, he remember what her last gift had contained. This one was no different – except the date printed on the paper had changed to yesterday's and fresh blood had dribbled from the crown of her skull behind her hair down the line of her cheekbone. Rhea was facing the camera expressionlessly, but the pupils of her eyes were horribly uneven; one constricted, the other dilated. Concussed. Badly. Disgust boiled in the titan's stomach.

Alright, Zeus. Message received.

You're a fucking _ass-hat_.

Kronos stashed her image behind his pillow along with the other envelope he'd been given. He didn't like the fact it was becoming a collection.

He pulled his coat over his shoulders and tucked his knife against his waist. He didn't bother to lock his door.

Unfortunately for Thalia Grace, she was a creature of habit. Everyday she went to a different restaurant for lunch, everyday she walked a slightly different route to work, but every night – without fail – the girl went to the women's shelter. Upon further review, which Kronos had grudgingly done at the Hall of Records, the building had even less defensive measures than he'd first assumed. It'd been built before the new storm building requirements had been enforced; so its walls were thin and made of a cheap wood. No cameras. Very crude locks. But he ended up listening to the voices in his head, as awful as that sounded, meaning he didn't kill her in the women's shelter. No, that was the much easier aforementioned "Plan A."

This was Plan B.

The train to this shit-hole dump of a town was not a busy one – especially the three in the morning one Thalia took. The walk she took to the shelter, the same one Kronos had made, involved basically circumventing some farms on dirty gravel trails. When she started past a wooden barn – old and forgotten and falling down – Kronos was waiting.

In fact, he'd been waiting for thirty minutes – boredly cleaning his nails with the tip of his knife - soaking in the moldy wet scent of the barn. He though it was sorta funny he could hear her before he could see her, heavy, steel-capped combat-style boots crunching the old pebbles into the even older path. Her walk, he could discern from this thundering sound, was brisk and relaxed. Kronos crouched on his toes within the barn, and he leaned forward in his lurch as her footsteps grew louder. The night's air was could and dry against his skin as he poked his head from inside the barn. Something like static reached Kronos in his hiding place.

She rounded the corner just past him – outline of her figure outlined in the starlight. Her dyed hair shone in the full moon. There were only a few clouds tonight, and it was bright and clear. He wouldn't be able to hide in the darkness. He crept closer, his toes soundless against the ground. He ran his foot across the gravel to minimize the impact of his step – the stones rolls a little underneath his feet.

His ears pricked up at the sound of her falter. He saw her turn suddenly, head cast over her shoulder scanning the field to her left – just in front of where he stood. The titan stopped himself from his emergence from behind the barn, leg muscles burning with strain. Her right hand hovered over her hip, fingers bent prematurely – her jaw was tense and locked. An earbud dangled down past her chin, while the other Kronos could only assume was plugged in; the static sound he'd noticed being her music too loud.

"Hello?" Said Thalia with an almost cautious tone. The wind was her only answer. Kronos could see her hesitate on her heels. She relented with a physical shrug, but her pace was quicker when she started walking again and her shoulders were still very tense. His legs were screaming at him. Kronos leaned forward finally, and Thalia didn't appear to hear him. He'd taken extra precaution to lift his foot this time lest it scrap against the gravel again.

Now, despite most people's rudimentary skill in it – sneaking up on someone is not easy. At all. Especially when they're already cautious because you fucked up and especially on a gravel road in the middle of the absolute brightest night Kronos had remembered seeing in at least twenty years. Regardless, Kronos was giving it a solid effort, low to the ground, perched up on his toes, knife – secured tightly in his left hand – gleaming in the moonlight.

Toe to heel, toe to heel.

She was moving quickly, which made it difficult for him to catch her and remain silent both, but he'd cut down the space between to nearly four feet before Thalia paused very suddenly, and turned on her heel.

What was he going to do? It was a full moon – and it's not like he could dive in the field to hide himself in the maybe three millimeters of grass that was there. They'd left the barn a good twenty paces behind them.

Thalia's wide blue eyes met his. Her face seemed ghostly in the moonlight, usually pale and gaunt in its strange shadows. It was a silent standstill, maybe two, three seconds of detained breath. Kronos leaped from his position. With a shushed yelp, Thalia staggered backward. But of course, she had never been one unprepared. From her belt, she drew a _xiphos_ , a kind of sword Kronos had not seen for anything but ceremony in at least a millennia, and swung wildly in the vague location of his skull.

Which, mind you, really, he didn't appreciate.

Kronos threw himself at the ground, tucking in his knees and arms to his chest in an attempt to roll behind her. The gravel that flew towards him in a sudden flurry let him know she hadn't been deceived and was facing him. The sword plowing into the ground where he'd just been standing was a clue as well. He sprang from the ground with the momentum he'd built in his roll and Thalia found herself mere inches away from Kronos – arm still wide away from her, sword behind Kronos. A non-defensible stance.

"He-" She'd begun to say. She coughed. And wheezed. Another cough had blood dripping from her lips. In comparison to the pale of her face in the light, her blood was a dark, dismal crimson.

Hey eyes trailed down her own body, only to find Kronos' knife lodged between her ribs – where her lung should be. And… probably was. He'd twisted the blade brutally and he knew fragments of her bone had shattered away and pierced her lung. He knew she was going to drown in her own blood.

It wasn't the painless and quick death he usually liked to bestow.

A clatter as her sword slipped from her grip.

He pulled his dagger from her chest. Without the support, she fell to the floor.

"I-" She began, blood pooling around her lips, around the floor nearest her chest. A pained cough. She wriggled a little, reminding the titan of a baby trying to learn to walk, hands shaking desperately. Her eyes were blinking rapidly, her chest expanding and contracting harshly. Her fingers crawled blindly across the gravel trail for her sword.

Kronos kneeled down above her and without hesitation, slashed her throat.

She did not move again.

He dragged her corpse back to the barn, blood seeping and leaving a trail behind them on the pebbles. He didn't really care. Zeus could clean up the mess this time. Kronos stashed her behind a hay stack, her legs and arms wedged up on top her chest in the tight space. As he'd done with his other granddaughter, the titan remembered the obol he'd found in the water behind the women's shelter and slipped it into her mouth beneath her tongue. He drew the pads of his fingers across her young, delicate face to close her eyes.

Later that night, perhaps it'd been hours since he'd returned to Zeus' flat – he couldn't tell anymore, he dialed the preset number again. This time, he told them of a different death. Thalia's.

"Awaiting further instruction." He echoed precisely how he'd done so with Hazel. The pad of his thumb pressed into the bright red "end call."

He could hear the dial tone follow him as he left the room.

 **SEVEN**

Agata had actually cleaned her floors, Kronos noted with muted shock as he stood to order a coffee, a latte this time, and take his usual place at the table in the corner. Despite the fact he now technically lived in the Olympic District, he couldn't bring himself to drink any of their pretentious coffee off their stick-free tables. No. This was the place. The wrinkles around Agata's eyes crinkled kindly at him when she smiled. Her eyes, he saw, were a little wet and rimmed too-red around the edges, as though she had allergies, or Gaia-forbid maybe she'd been crying. He really hoped she hadn't been crying. The atmosphere of the cafe, despite the new sense of cleanliness, was more dreary than Kronos seemed to remember, and an almost lackadaisical lethargic pace had settled over the city. He was trying not to freak out, but it was a weird, mourning sort of demure that blanketed them all. Agata tried for up-beat. "It's been awhile, Corax."

"Yeah." The titan's voice sounded more tired than he'd intended. Maybe the city was influencing him too. "It has." Find something friendly to say. "New bus boy?"

Agata turned to him, maybe seventeen – a little too slender, looking almost a little stunned he was actually doing his job. "Yes, he's been a real help." A pause. "Where's our Rhea?"

He ignored her. "Good, good." The titan hesitated after he'd placed his change in her collection jar. He watched as her hands shook as she pulled him a fresh scone off a still-hot baking sheet on the back counter. "You alright, Agata?"

The woman let out a huff and licked her lips. Her eyes searched him. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard?"

She ran her hand across the bottom of her nose in an almost subconscious movement. Kronos furrowed his eyebrows.

"She's..." a catch in her voice, "she's dead."

"Who?"  
"Thalia." A crack. "Thalia Grace. She was such a nice girl." Agata brought the edge of her apron to her eyes.

Oh.

"You knew her?"

She shook her head fervently. "No, no, but the girls she helped," hand to her mouth, "oh, they must be devastated. Such a nice girl."

What should he say? What could he say that wasn't a barefaced lie? "I'm sorry to hear that."

Agata mumbled to herself, wringing her hands. "Don't you worry about it, Corax – I'm sure the Olympians will find that bastard soon." The plate she pushed towards him with his pastry was still a little warm from the washing water. "You keep our Rhea safe, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She nodded.

Kronos moved to his table.

He had his laptop with him, open and ready and hands hovering over the keyboard, but he couldn't move himself to type. What was there to do other than wait for Athena's next assignment? He'd received the Olympian's morbid congratulatory letter – Rhea's head thankfully bandaged and her pupils even – freshly timestamped newspaper and all. It'd been slipped beneath his door, by who he couldn't guess. He'd brought to his lips, kissed it, and slipped it beneath his pillow.

He drummed his fingers across the table.

His computer was cheerfully displaying his background image at him – a picture he'd taken of Rhea at the Acropolis. It was probably tacky, skyline of the city in the background, flag of Greece to the side, Rhea facing out to the setting sun – dress whipping around her legs. The fact Kronos had taken the picture with Rhea's _iPhone_ made it all the more grainy. He'd taken her here – not once or twice – but nearly every morning after that first night in his apartment. Kronos thought he should have taken her somewhere nicer, but Rhea had seemed charmed by the fact the owner knew his name… sort of.

She'd laughed it off to him after the heavy-set had stopped fawning over her that they're table. In a sing-song voice she teased him, "Corax got a _girlfriend_."

"Shuddup."

A laugh like music to him. "Corax?"

He couldn't help but smile. "What? I like it."

A raised eyebrow. She enunciated each syllable. "Corax."

"It means "Crow"."

"I'm Greek too. I know what it means."

"Well?" He grinned. "Seems fitting." He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it up. Rhea quickly tried to tame it. "Didn't you used to call me Crow?" A laugh bubbled from his chest. "'Cause my hair looks like feathers? Well, it's still black, still spiky."

"I like Kronos."

" _Kronos_?" He jested with fake hurt, "Yes, Miss Agata, I _am_ named after the child-eating titan that fathered our evil Olympian overlord. My parents were hippies."

She shook her head. The edge of her lips curled up towards her eyes. The garish light of the cafe did beautiful things to her eyes when she looked toward him. "This," pastry in hand, "is a good scone."

Now Kronos stared at his scone, steam still rising from it. Almond-flavored, with dried cherries. His favorite. Rhea's favorite. How pathetic was it that it felt like a scone was mocking him? He couldn't take it.

"Agata?" he called over the clamor.  
"Yes, love?" Her hesitance made him crumbled inside. Why did it have to be _Thalia_?  
"Could I take this in a bag to go?"

Old lines smoothed out across her face as she relax into a smile.

"Of course."

It wasn't hard to tell, after that, what had come over the city. They were mourning Thalia. And the one's who weren't were comforting someone who was. She'd been more of a local hero than Kronos had ever given her credit for. He felt queasy like he hadn't in years walking through the city, paper bag holding his pastry soaking with his sweat. He wanted to be sick. He just about fell past his door frame.

His nose twisted and his eyes narrowed. "Athena."

The ever-noble woman raised her chin. "Kronos."

"Who?"  
She sniffed. "Really, we should discu-"  
"I don't care," Kronos snarled. "Just tell me who."

Athena took her time, crossing her ankles just so before her perfectly straight back and folded hands delivered her ultimatum.

"Perseus Jackson." A wicked smile. "You remember him, right?"

 **EIGHT**

Kronos had always known about the Nightguard. Everyone _knew_ per se, but it'd never been an issue for anyone. So long as you were home before the state mandated curfew, they wouldn't give you trouble. Of course, after Thalia's death, the Olympians – namely Zeus – had to give the illusion of at least some care for her death. He'd delivered a sniffling speech, televised of course to the entire country, mourning the death of his daughter, demanding justice for her murder. It might have been a good show too, all those crocodile tears for the benefit of the camera, if Kronos didn't know the truth. Hell, the fucker had collected all the big-wigs to be there and everything. However, Zeus was not about to be outdone by _anyone_ in theatrics, and so, his guise had to be more than just tears. Hence, the aforementioned "Nightguard." Monsters like harpies disguised as legitimate police officers. Their number had been doubled since Thalia's murder to keep up the charade and the ever present curfew, which, honestly, Kronos had never paid any mind to, had been moved up three hours – into when it there was still daylight. People complained, of course, but what were they to do? Stand outside with little paper pickets and get eaten by a harpy? Poor mortals.

Kronos, for one, hadn't been up to much since he'd assigned to kill Percy. He'd ordered pizza to his door twice in the last week and had mostly filled up his nights watching tv and called it "avoiding the Nightguard." He took a sort of smug joy in knowing that whoever was watching him on the not-so-subtle security cameras was probably bored out of their mind. Look, it was bad enough to be commissioned into killing his two granddaughters, but he'd actually _spoken_ to Percy before. If he'd thought he'd been hesitant with Hazel or Thalia, this was ridiculous.

It was nighttime now, after the new curfew the Olympians had enforced. Kronos had run out of pizza, unfortunately, and it being after curfew – no sensible mortal would be out delivering more. This meant Kronos had to cook. Sigh. He'd thrown every vegetable in his fridge onto a baking sheet with some salt. Yummy, really, but a bit of a let down after a days of pizza if he was being perfectly honest. He'd just begun to eat, legs crossed underneath him on the floor in front of the couch. When the first knock had sounded at the door – Kronos had initially assumed it was Athena having learned her lesson after his being naked when she didn't announce herself politely. No time like the present to develop some manners right?

"Look," he was already saying when he swung open the door, "I'm working as quick-" He blinked at the blue eyes boring into his from above. Kronos didn't think he was very short, though, he would admit, he wasn't especially tall either, and was not used to having to crane his neck practically vertical to see someone's eyes. He supposed it was accentuated by the fact the giant kept creeping toward him. The newscast made him seem a little less imposing when he was standing next to Zeus.

"Um," Kronos stepped back. "Jason?"

The teenager, muscles taunt and face gaunt, swallowed visibly as he took another daring step forward.

"You're… you're Kronos, right?" He asked, voice like a very tightly wound string, high, and pitchy, and fragile.

The titan blinked. "Yes?"

And then all hell broke loss.

Jason lunged at Kronos, switchblade he'd kept carefully tucked away behind his back swinging out from behind him. Kronos threw himself to the floor, head bowed down as he landed on his side. He scrambled on his hands and feet to move away from the son of Zeus. Jason though, the lucky bastard, was still standing, and easily caught up with Kronos and his weird, backwards army crawl. The metal of the blade flashed, reflecting the light of Kronos' kitchen. Jason swung down to his throat. The recoil Kronos managed to achieve on the floor was reminiscent of an acrobat – his back absolutely fully pronated. The titan saw his opportunity. Kronos kicked his leg up, his body fell from out behind him, but his foot made purchase into Jason's stomach. The demigod coughed violently and his arms curled into his waist. As Kronos had predicted. Slamming his hands into the floor below them, Kronos pushed his body off the ground and into Jason's face. The son of Zeus, still stunned and tight, yelped when Kronos threw his entire weight into him. Hey, he was the smallest of _eighteen_ children – most (all) of whom where bigger than him. He knew how to fight someone twice his size.

Jason, who'd not yet managed to actually clear the doorway, fell back onto his head first, unsupported back second, with Kronos straddling his stomach in the open doorway. Kronos hear something _crack_. The two fumbled for the knife, a battle which Kronos, straining with every fucking muscle in his body, won. Jason's hands were lethargic and shaking. Kronos held the blade to his throat.

"What the _hell_?" He seethed, leaning down over Jason's face – close enough he could see his breath blow his bangs from his face. "We're on the same team, _right_?"

Jason spat. The spittle ran down the titan's cheek. Kronos drove his elbow down into Jason's gut. A wheeze.

"You killed the Thalia."

"Of course I did."

Jason's pupils constricted. " _Why_?"

"What do you mean _why_?"

The demigod coughed again, a horrible sound. Blood trickled down the side of cheek from the part in his lips. The boy, Kronos realized, was working too hard to breathe.

"Jason?" Kronos slapped his cheek, not gently. "Jason!"

Up in an instant, Kronos ran to the landline Athena had installed for him. His fingers were steady and he was calm as he dialed.

"Hey." He said, terse, when the dispatcher answered the phone. "Ambulance. Now."

 **NINE**

"I'll give it to you," he said plopping down in the chair beside Jason, "you got balls."

Sea green eyes blinked at him. Percy licked his lips. "I guess so."

"Seriously." Kronos leaned his cheek onto his fist – elbow balanced on the armrest, "they want you dead."

"I know."

"Do you?" When he didn't answer, "then you know they hired me to kill you."

Percy sighed and took the chair beside all the beeping mortal machines Kronos couldn't name. Jason's heart was still beating, a listless fifty beats a minute, but he hadn't woken up since he'd attacked Kronos two days ago. "We're cousins." He said this softly, like it were some grand secret. "I have to see him." The son of Poseidon motioned toward a vase of flowers on Jason's bedside table. "See? Even you brought flowers."

Kronos snorted. "I'm the reason he'll be paralyzed for the rest of his life. That is, if he wakes."

Percy looked away, and rubbed his hands together nervously.

He hadn't been Kronos' intention, of course. Jason's fall, the crack that Kronos had heard, had been one of the demigod's lower vertebrae fracturing into about six pieces – which severed part of his spinal cord. He'd be very lucky to ever feel his legs again, much less walk on them. Kronos had physically spent his time since the fight languorously flitting back and forth between Jason's hospital room and his apartment. Mentally, he'd been wondering why the fight had happened at all. He knew it had something to do with Thalia, hell, he'd be pissed off too if someone had murdered his sister – but Kronos had been under the impression that everyone in Zeus' inner sanctum knew of Thalia's betrayal. Knew of the plan to "rid" of her. Was it possible that Jason had been left out? That maybe he was an agent of Poseidon too? Kronos eyed Percy, who was downright nebbish in his crouch over his unconscious cousin. Somehow he doubted it. Percy met his imploring gaze. "Kronos?"

They were saved by the bell, so to speak, a man in a long white coat and shining golden hair. Kronos thought he was attractive – in a cute Labrador-puppy sort of way. He smiled brightly at the two of them, completely misreading the atmosphere of the room. Attractive _and_ oblivious. A good combination. "Friends of Jason's?" He chirped, mindlessly running his fingers against the machine, checking all sorts of this and that. Kronos noted he smelled strongly of disinfectants and vaguely floral soaps.

"Something like that," the titan answered for them.

"Good, good." The doctor wasn't really listening.

"Doctor Solace?" Someone said from the hallway.

All three of the occupants looked to the door. Kronos saw the doctor flush a little, in his cheeks and saw him stand up straighter. A hand through his hair. Preening himself. Like a fucking peacock. The titan hid his smile.

"You're needed-" The pale man in the doorway paused. His hair was a dark, dark black – and in comparison to his pale, pale skin; Kronos thought he looked like a corpse walking. Fragile webs of greenish veins stood-out on his wrist and neck. " _Percy_?"

The son of Poseidon was already gawking. " _Nico_? You're alive?"

Kronos raised an eyebrow.

Doctor Solace looked nervous, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two. "You two… know each other?" Desperation dripping off his voice. Aw, poor somebody had a crush.

"What about Bianca? I thought you wer-"

"Cousins." The one called Nico sniped to the doctor. His eyes narrowed at Percy. "We're cousins."

"Son of a bitch." Kronos leaned back into his chair. "Another one?" He waved away all the confused looks from the boys in the room. He mused to himself. "When my children are going to discover what a condom is?"

Nico snapped his attention back to Percy. "He's-"

"Yeah."

A bony finger in Kronos' general direction. "As in-"

"Yeah."

"Really."

Percy nodded.

"Um," Doctor Solace waddled over to Nico. "Who is he?"

A blank stare. Goodness, the boy had bags under his eyes and his lip twitched up in annoyance at every question thrown at him. It would be cute, thought Kronos, to see those two together. Like a cat and a dog. Nico counted off a list on his fingers. "Uh, let's see: Titan of Time and Agriculture. Lord of the Crooked Paths. The Crafty Councilor. King of the Titans. Husband and consort of the all-mother Rhea. Father of Zeus-"

"For _fuck's sake,_ " he shrugged away their stares. "Kronos." A collective intake. The titan resisted rolling his eyes. "My name? And it _is_ just a name. Use it – that's what it's for."

"But-"  
"Just don't wear it out."

A soft tap at the door frame.

'Great," grumbled Kronos, "it's a party now."

Solace's jaw dropped. "My, my lord-" he fell to his knees. "Lord Poseidon."

The sea god, to his credit, waved off the supplication modestly, "No, no. Please rise." Shakily, Solace came to his feet with a horridly confused look; probably as to why their was a _god_ _in the room_ and no one else had shown any sort of respect. Seemed a reasonable question.

"Dad." Said Percy from his chair.

Solace whirled around. "This is your-"

"Uncle." Nico interrupted.

"He's your-"

"Child." Kronos added amused. He liked this doctor.

Solace found a chair to plop himself into by the beeping machine.

A polite and genteel nod, "Percy, Nico..." An almost amused smirk. "Kronos."

The titan smiled.

"What's going on?" Asked Percy, back straight in his seat.

Poseidon seat himself much more gracefully than the doctor had, on foot of Jason's bed. He took great care not to smush Jason's feet beneath the covers. The room was clean, and very white, and sanitized, and small and so Poseidon's knees were mere inches from Kronos. When the god leaned forward toward him, his feet rested maybe only a foot or two away. He could feel the god's breath.

How grossly intimate.

"Kronos," he began, and then, in a Greek the titan had not heard in years, "we need your help."

The titan drew his legs beneath his chair.

"Zeus has let this world fall apart-"

"You've given this speech before."

Poseidon held up a hand, fingers together. His eyes slid closed as he waited for Kronos to finish. "This time is different."

"How's that?"

"Because they want you to kill Percy."

"And?"

"Um-" the doctor interjected, "what's going-"

"Shut it," hissed Nico, craning over to eavesdrop as best he could. Ancient Greek wasn't so terribly different from modern. Any honest to Zeus Greek child would have had classes in it.

"And?" Kronos implored, ignoring them.

"And I know of Rhea." He paused for emphasis. Fuck. Kronos hated when he did that. "So I only need you to do one thing for me."

"Which is?"

"Help me pull of the scam of the century." A little quirk up of his lips. "Fake Percy's death for me and then you and Rhea can go free."

"I'm calling bullshit."

But hell, he was serious wasn't he?

Poseidon shook his head. His eyes were downcast. "We Olympians have made you suffer enough, Kronos, this I believe full-heartedly. Do this for me, and I will set you free – give you passage to whatever country you'd wish to go to, with some money to get you started." Poseidon's hands were warm and calloused when they took Kronos'. "I mean it."

There was silence for a moment – a familiar sound; cars bustling on a distant motorway, people talking, footsteps, the buzzing of power-lines, whirling of air conditioning, the gentle screeching of the tram lines. Birds chirping. Wind blowing. He could hear the waves, always, a distant _crash_ against the shore. All sounds of Athens. Of Greece. Sounds Kronos had known for millennia. Oh, he could fake Percy's death alright, but could he _leave_? It'd seemed he'd always known Greece. He berated himself internally, now was not the time to be sentimental. Now was the time to make a decision. Leave now? Or live this way for the rest of time?

"Or," Poseidon started. "Another option."

"Is?"

He licked his lips. "Help us."

Kronos had once been an idealist, like Poseidon was now. Maybe that's why he said what he did.

"I do this, and you promise me that Rhea goes back to America free."

Poseidon's brow furrowed. "I promise."

"Swear it."

"I swear it… What about you?"

"I swear I will carry out your plan."

Poseidon forced the titan to meet his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

Kronos curled his toes in his sandals. Exhaled deeply. There were maybe things he thought to say. Zeus has ruined the word. The earth is suffering. People are suffering. How he could do nothing for him, not without his magic. A whole speech, he could give came to him in an instant. But brevity has always been the soul of wit, hasn't it?

"Enough."

 **Do I have an excuse for how long this took me? No. Is the next going to be any faster? Of course not! ...Sorry guys. I really did mean to post this before my birthday. When was my birthday you ask? ...I really don't want to admit it... Hope you guys are enjoying this story, but really, I can't lie to you, it just gets weirder from here... :P As always, let me know if you see any mistakes, etc. And to the reviewer who mentioned the brunette thing... you're totally right and i _knew_ that I swear! XD I'll go back and fix it. One part to go, please leave a review for me! Let me know what you think. **


	3. Act Three

ACT THREE

 **ONE**

" _i really fucked it up this time, didn't i, my dear?"_

-little lion man, mumford and sons

He'd demanded to see her.

Not because he was fearful the Olympian's had done something untoward, but because he needed time to prep Percy's "death" without raising too much suspicion.

He was supposedly the hardest to kill, right? Seemed sensible.

Athena flicked some invisible flint under her nail. He'd gone to her this time, much to her chagrin. Kronos had never actually been inside a building on Olympic Boulevard but he wasn't disappointed – it was dripping in ostentatious gold and platinum decorations. Athena, to her credit, hadn't blanched when she'd seen him wandering the lobby in sweats and slightly dirty t-shirt. A quick "follow me" and the slam of a small office door led them to the present.

"Water?" She offered him the smallest bottle he'd seen in his life. Like a plastic shot glass. A ridiculously wasteful novelty only Zeus would buy.

"Sure."

She tossed it to him.

This was the only pleasant part of their conversation.

"And why, exactly, do need to see her?"

Kronos had sat himself on top of the walnut meeting table, despite the plethora of chairs around it. Athena, having pulled out a leather chair from the table for him, turned up her nose to this, but didn't outwardly comment.

"I need to confirm she's alright."

"We don't send you those pictures for our health, Titan."

"I need to see her for myself."

Her eyes slid shut and she exhaled harshly through her nose. Manicured index finger, painted a mauve gray, rested against her temple. Luckily for Kronos, she decided this wasn't a hill to die on. Lose a battle to win the war and all that shit.

"We'll take you there, but I'm blindfolding you and locking you the back of a van to get there."

"Fine."

She lowered her gaze, a sly smile blanketing her face. "A very dirty, abhorrent van."

" _Fine_."

"With mucus, and feces-"

"Only a virgin would be disgusted by basic bodily secretions."

"Oh, _shut up_."

Kronos folded his legs.

"Stay here." Said the woman.

He didn't have to wait long; maybe five minutes had elapsed before Athena returned with a large burly man. His hair was neatly trimmed down to nearly his scalp, but was a flaming red in color. When he turned his head in the light, it shimmered like a weak flame. He had scars across his cheeks, and jaw, and throat and wore a distastefully gaudy leather uniform. Jacket, pants, shirt, shoes. All of it leather. Maybe it was just the "son of Gaia" part talking – but Kronos found him immediately revolting. He plopped himself into one of the leather chairs.

"This is Ares." Athena introduced coldly. "Ares, Kronos."

The man snorted.

"Pleasure," the titan said on reflex. He did not offer his hand.

"You can see her," he took this unnatural pause to spit into the philodendron planter, "in one week." Athena's grimace told him he wasn't the only one.

"Fine, but Jackson lives until I see her."

Athena ground her teeth. "You're not really in a position to make demands."

"And yet," palms flat out to the ceiling, "here we are."

"You're pushing it."

"I don't see my wife – I disappear and you clean up your own messes."

"I say we do it," Ares grumbled. "I can take care of one demigod brat."

"Past experiences say you can't." Hissed Athena, "Or don't you remember Montauk?"

The titan raised an eyebrow. Folded his hands. "Do we have a deal or what?"

Athena, begrudgingly, held out her palm. "Deal."

They shook.

 **TWO**

"A week." He reported back to Poseidon, who disguised himself stupidly like a blond surfer. His skin was deeply tanned, his arms had string friendship bracelets up and down. He wore a Hawaiian fish hook charm necklace.

"That's gnarly, man."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, _gnarly_ , dude. The time frame and shit."

"What's wrong with your voice? Did you gargle salt water?" Kronos motioned to him. "Why are you dressed like an illiterate American?"

Surfer dude frowned. "I'm trying to like, keep character, dude. You're throwing me off my groove."

" _Stop that_. No one talks like that."

"Dude. You been to Cali?"

"To what?"

Poseidon raised his eyebrows. " _California_ , man."

"No. I don't believe you. No one talks like that."

"Believe it, dude. People who work at _Caltech_ talk like this."

"I don't know what that is."

Poseidon rolled his eyes. "And you called me illiterate."

Kronos jabbed his elbow into his son's ribs. "A week. Come on, genius. What do we do?"

Poseidon cleared his throat, which did little to make him sound any less like he had cotton balls in his mouth. "Actually, like, Doc Solace has been totally on it-"

"Child, my ears are bleeding."

Poseidon glared. "Well, totally sucks to be you. Anyway, he and Nico – you remember Nico right?"

The titan nodded.

"Right, they've like, totally devised this plan to like, make Percy looked dead, but be totally, like, okay."

"Like, really?"

Poseidon frowned. "Dude, you have really bad vibes. Bad aura, man."

"Do I?"

"Yeah, like-"

"The plan," interrupted the titan. "What do I need to do?"

Poseidon shook his head. "It would be easier if your MO wasn't, like, slitting throats." Kronos let out a long, exasperated sigh. "I guess it's good you tend to go for the chest first."

"What?"

"You need to attack him a way that like, is sort of like what you'd normally do, but without the actual killing part."

"No way."

"Smartass," Poseidon deadpanned. " _That's it_. A minor injury that get's him inducted into the hospital. Attack him a public area so it doesn't seem suspicious you didn't finish the job. From there, Doc Solace will inject him with morphine."

"Morphine?"

"It can lower blood pressure and heart rate until they're virtually non-readable."

"And then what? A low heart rate isn't enough to declare someone dead, Poseidon. Don't they have machines-"

"Yes, yes," interrupted the sea god, "but," here he held up his finger, "Percy has a DNR order."

Kronos shook his head. "Are you intentionally saying things I don't understand for shits and giggles or something?"  
"A 'do-not-resuscitate' order." Kronos blinked.

Poseidon sighed, "I didn't know what it meant either. Basically, if Percy suffers a medical emergency, he has issued an order to perform no CPR, ect."

"You guys really think this is a good plan? What if he actually dies?"

"He won't."  
"How can you be so sure?"  
"Because," and here Poseidon's hand gripped Kronos' much too tightly, "you're not gonna fuck this up. Right?"

"Right." Echoed the titan. "And then? Percy is dead-not-dead, how do you get him out of Greece? That is the end goal, right?" He asked, but of course he knew. Percy was too valuable to be in Greece – it was much to risky to keep the second in command of Poseidon's movement in a state owned by the enemy. The idea was to transport him back to his home in New York, with his mother. Frankly, Kronos didn't think they'd really thought this whole thing through – Zeus' minions could use public transport too – but he didn't comment.

Poseidon smiled to himself like he had the whole thing figured out. Which, supposed Kronos, he did, but really, how sloppy was this plan? So _many ways_ to fuck it all up. "Nico, you remember Nico right?"

"We covered this."

"Well, Nico is the coroner. A death certificate signed by him, the doctors follow his will to have his corpse shipped back to America to be buried. Easy."

"You're delusional."

"It _is_ going to work."

"Are you going to ship him in a _coffin_?"

"Well, I mean, I'll give him an _iPhone_ and some headphones."

" _What?_ "

"So he won't get bored?"

"You're shipping him in a fucking coffin?"

"Well, yeah."

"In a cargo hold?"  
"Yeah."

"Do you know how cold airplane cargo holds get? How _cold_ the sky is?"

"Some of them are heated. He'll be fine."  
Kronos sighed. "Right. Fine."

Bullshit.

 **THREE**

A week of preparing medical orders and setting up a secret morphine store and all that shit went down exceedingly well. He was told. Actually, much to his surprise. Kronos didn't, nor did he want, to have any part of it. Not that he would know what to do anyway. The titan, for one, was content to buy himself some cheap beer and wait for Ares to come and get him. It had been a way to buy time, making them take him to see Rhea, but he was overjoyed in the prospect of seeing her.

Athena had told him, sometime after their meeting, that he was to wait for them in his apartment on that Wednesday. They'd come to collect him after night had fallen. This time frame was the extent of their super-spy like operation.

They were not covert. Ares arrived in a brash, completely conspicuous train of black SUVs. He wore a suit jacket over a nearly completely unbuttoned white dress shirt. Scrawlings of inky tattoos were barely concealed on his chest. He slammed his fist on the door.

"Titan!"

Kronos opened it only after he was sure he wouldn't get socked in the face by the war god.

"Hey."  
Ares raked his eyes up and down Kronos – taking in his much more causal attire. Jeans. An utterly plain t-shirt. Jacket because he was cold. Age had given Kronos the glorious, genuine notion of not giving a fuck. As if Rhea would care. At least he'd brushed his hair.

Ares snorted. "Ready?"  
Kronos raised an eyebrow.

"Let's go, then."

They'd had the gall to blindfold him, as if it made any difference. Should Kronos care where they were going? He didn't think so. Further, the titan was sure they'd made more than one unnecessary circle to throw him off. What might have been a ten minute drive had taken two hours. Kronos couldn't really tell. The only thing to keep him interested was the gentle hum of the driver's stereo through the holes in the bullet-proof glass and Ares' harsh breathing through his nose. The titan thought the fucker had a sinus infection. Judging from the positive stench of the war god, he wouldn't be surprised.

He could tell, though, when Ares roughly grasped his arm above his elbow and yanked him from the vehicle. He heard Ares clear his nose, a thick glob of mucus trailing down his throat. Kronos stumbled a little on impact because the Olympian literally threw him to the curb. Honestly. Whatever happened to manners? He found his footing, was guided a couple of steps into the humid air of a building, and was glad the cold hands that went to untie his blindfold where Athena's. He might not have care how others saw him, a sentiment Ares clearly agreed with, but for Gaia's sake, whatever happened to hygiene?

It was dark but clean, the interior where he found himself. Walls a matte gray, absolutely void of any decoration at all. In front of him, two plain wooden doors were planted in the walls either side of a light-switch. He didn't know what was behind him. Athena shoved him to the right door. Warily, Kronos turned to her. She jutted out her chin.

"There." She said carelessly.

The floors, despite their marble look, turned out to be a cheap linoleum as Kronos found, his footsteps utterly silent. He turned pulled down the handle and pushed open the door.

His breath still caught in his chest when he saw her, though the Olympians didn't seem to have touched her since they'd administered the concussion. The titans said nothing to each other at first – at least not while Kronos assessed the situation. Celestial bronze chains, interlocked together carefully with each link as thick as a man's forearm, bound her to the wall – hands above head. He could guess her arms had long since gone numb. Her hair was dirty, as was her face and skin, but the blood had been wiped from her chin and her legs seemed to be positioned somewhat comfortably in front of her.

"You've been better."

"I've been worse, too." She chirped, voice like gravel but eyes still shining with her innate amusement. Dauntless. A trait Kronos had always admired.

"Have you come to save me?" A smile was creeping into her voice.

"Not yet."

She pouted. "Why not?"

"One more job to do."  
"Job." She said. Kronos saw her try to flex her fingers. They hardly obeyed. "Zeus said something like that."

"Did he?"

She licked her lips. "Three jobs and I could go free."

Kronos nodded. "That was the deal."

"What three jobs?"

Kronos pursed his lips, "Rhea..."

"Don't give me that crap, Kronos. What is he making you do?"

"I-"

"Are you stealing?" She accused.

"No."

"Spying?"

He forced a harsh laugh. "No."

Her lips parted almost imperceptibly, and her eyes widened about the same amount. Then her jaw snapped together very tightly. Her voice was very quiet. "Are you killing for him?"

Kronos was the Crooked One. An excellent manipulator and an even better liar – his pride had always stemmed from the idea he could say anything and make anyone believe it. He could make any deal and any compromise but end up on top. He'd made very few promises in his life he actually intended to keep – perhaps something he was less proud of. But he would not lie to Rhea. He'd sworn it and he'd meant it. "Yes."

It was one thing about Rhea his children didn't know, well, that is, among the hundreds of other things his children didn't know about Rhea. Stories, especially those passed down through generations of storytellers like all the best ones are, have an interesting way of saying exactly what people want to hear. That he'd married the titan for her lovely face, that she'd complacently taken a seat not at his side, but slightly below him as his consort queen – as an object to be admired. Kronos thought it was funny, almost. He didn't call her Lioness for nothing. She didn't say anything outwardly. She didn't need to.

Her eyes were fierce.

"I won't make excuses." He started numbly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. It was only now he wished he worn something nicer for her. He'd hadn't felt like that in a long time.

He'd forgotten who he was talking to. Rhea didn't pull punches. "Did you have to?"

"For you, I had to."

She raised her eyebrow. "And before me?"

A grin crept to his face. "There wasn't a before you."

"Corny bastard. This is serious." But he could see her smile. It was gone, as quick as candlelight. "Answer me."

"No." As much as she valued honesty, he hated it.

She nodded.

Kronos desperately wanted to tell her about Poseidon's plan. To not only fight Zeus' unfair rule, but to save Percy as well. That he was _sparing_ a life. He knew she would like the idea – of a revolution for the greater good. But he wasn't stupid. Athena and Ares hadn't come through the door with them, but he'd be naive to think they'd left him and Rhea in a room where they couldn't watch. He, instead, brought himself gingerly to the floor near her – folding his legs one on top of the other and outstretched his hands to her cheeks. She leaned forward and rested her head against his. It was a tradition they'd both always thought was silly and stupid and too friendly, everything something like this could be, but in this moment – for them – it was a reminder that millennia of marriage had left them with something perhaps most couples did not understand. That, in this moment, Kronos' silence meant so much more than his words. Besides, the titan thought it was nice to be close to her again. His fingers slid something into the hem of her skirt. He tapped his finger along her hip. He could feel her wordless nod.

"Go." She told him finally, hot breath washing over his cheeks. Theirs had once been a relationship much too dear to complicate things with misnomers and riddles. When she said go, Kronos believed her and he did not question her. He left.

 **Unbelievably, everything Poseidon** had mentioned went _exactly_ to plan.

That being said, Poseidon hadn't said anything at all about what Kronos was supposed to do after attacking Percy in a public place. Mind you, this went against everything the titan had ever taught himself about assassinations: being visible, being around other people, so he took perhaps extra precautions on top of his extra precautions. He had a backup route for his backup route, three separate paths to take through one corridor in case he was cornered. If the Olympians had been playing fair – it would have worked. But, these were the Olympians we were talking about. They hadn't weaseled their way to the top by being the best player. Oh no. They were the assholes with the cheat codes.

Anyway. Down it.

It started well.

Kronos had hidden himself somewhat clumsily behind a park bench – yes, his finely tuned super-villain instincts were screaming at him too – where he was waiting for Percy. The demigod usually came home this way, he'd learned from Poseidon, because there was a falafel stand here that gave him an extra fritter every other time he came. Of course Percy knew he was to be attacked, but he didn't know where or when – to keep it "authentic". Whatever the fuck that meant.

"Hey, man-" He heard Perseus finally beginning to make small talk with the vendor.

"How's it, friend?" Was the chit chat response. Kronos sighed deeply. The plan, if it could be graced with such a name, was to wait for Jackson to walk past the bench. Attack him then. Hope the Athenian public would call an ambulance when they saw him fall to the ground while Kronos made his quick escape down one of his numerous pre-decided alleyway exits. Nothing could go wrong.

Knock on fucking wood.

Percy bought the falafel, Percy began his trek past the park bench. So far so good. Kronos tensed his legs – he was perched on his toes – and Kronos leaned forward. No one seemed to be paying him any mind. A breeze across the park was a nice distraction from the hot sun. The gentle snowfall had bled back into a typical Athens' winter, then; a gloriously temperate and sunny day. Dry and refreshing. A good day to be in the park. A bad day for any sort of illegal activity like Kronos had planned. It was bright enough it would be hard _not_ to see his face. Though, the titan mused, it didn't matter if they saw him – only that they didn't catch him.

Perhaps needless to say, he was not enamored with this plan of his son's.

Too late now, he thought as Percy neared Kronos' trajectory. Three, he exhaled, two, an inhale, one.

"Ah!" Percy yelped as he was slammed to the floor. Kronos used his knees to straddle the demigod to the ground. His knife was ready. Unfortunately, Percy apparently wanted to make this authentic. Which the titan had _not_ anticipated. His fist collided with Kronos' diaphragm.

Fuck. _Ow._

Kronos heaved, but was still lucid enough to dodge Percy's second attempt to take him out. The titan wildly glanced around to regain his barrings – he needed to make sure his exits were still a reasonable distance. Good for the demigod, this gave Percy enough time to clamor to his feet and bare down on the titan with a fist to his kidney. Kronos loved a good old-fashioned rabbit punch. When he was the one giving them. Fucking shit. _Ow_.

The titan grunted as rolled onto his stomach, but otherwise maintained his composure. Flecks of too bright light glimmered at the corner of his eyes. This was _not_ the plan, dammit, Jackson! Percy leapt from his position on his knees to cover Kronos' body with his own.

Enough of this shit. Kronos swung his arm up blindly to bury the blade of his knife just beside Percy's right lung. His face morphed from pure fury to shock and then utter, utter pain. He curled up onto himself. Kronos, knowing that's all that was needed, shoved the boy off himself and spun to make his exit.

A little harder than anticipated – thank you, _Jackson_ – but so far so good. His first choice of route was blocked by oglers, but his second was clear. Thank Gaia. He bolted down the cobbled street and launched himself to the second story balcony on the side of the tall apartment building. The third one down, in fact. The one with no tenant. His right hand entirely missed the mark, but his left found purchase on the wrought iron. It was little issue to the titan to swing his arm up to have a full grip on the bar. In a single motion, he thrusted his body over the railing and slipped in the unlocked glass door.

Percy injured? Judging by the raucous sound of panicked commotion and the distance call of sirens – check.

Kronos' escape? Unbelievably, the titan remarked glancing about the refurbished apartment – check.

Then there was nothing to it right? His part was done. Now all he could do was pray that Poseidon managed to pull off his part and that Zeus would honor his pact and release Rhea.

 _Rhea_. It was a stunning numbness that overcame him then, standing in that apartment. His own body suddenly didn't feel like his own when he looked down to his calloused hands. He lost count of his own breathing and had to think manually to bring the air in and out. An uncomfortable boil began in his stomach and spread to his chest, and then his neck and head. Breath faster, his brain told him, breath faster, faster, faster. Kronos blinked the sparkling darkness from the corners of his eyes. A prickled rolling feeling across his cheeks. His stance wavered precariously.

And then.

Of course, there was always an "and then."

Breath faster, faster.

Kronos fainted.

 **FOUR**

He woke sometime later, lips numb and head throbbing. He coughed painfully. His stomach turned. Kronos lost his breakfast.

 **FIVE**

Delirious was a good word for him when he finally opened his eyes and felt somewhat normal again. His hair and cheek was soaked in the remains of his own vomit and it slid down to his collarbone once he'd finally pulled himself off the cold floor. He held out his hands. Trembling, yes, but _his_. His chest screamed for air.

Kronos rose to his feet.

Sometime in his delirium, night had fallen. It was clear, and the waning moon cast an ethereal sort of sheen over the apartment. His feet, he watched as he placed them carefully, heal to toe, neared him to the open balcony door. He turned his head down the alleyway. The park had fallen quiet with the night. A vague hint of laughter echoed out from a distant tavern. Through his ears, a torrent of blood poured into his head. It was _spooky_ , how incredibly normal everything suddenly was again. In an apartment again, the night calm and soft again, him incredibly alone again. It was the Athens he'd known for a thousand years.

 _BANG, BANG._

The shots were punctuated with each jolt of Kronos' form – and they served to pull him from his melancholy. The night's peace was a veil, a facade hiding the horrors that Zeus had called from the depths. The laughter, soft and jittery, now sounded true – drunken and cruel. Among the throng now, he could hear crying from a distant balcony. He heard yelling from the apartment a couple over. The titan's reflection was crestfallen in the window.

Enough sobbing. Kronos shook his head. He needed to inform Athena of his success. He almost left then, but the titan decided – correctly – that he was disgusting; and that he needed to _bathe_. It felt nice, to strip out of dirty, torn, and sweaty clothes and to wash the grime (and vomit) from his face. He washed his clothes in the sink and was thankful to find an antiqued dryer hidden in the bathroom behind a closet door. He waited maybe twenty minutes after he'd showered, in nothing, having dried himself with a forgotten washcloth, before he put his slightly damp clothes back on. He snuck down through the front door, confidently strode down the hall, and through the front lobby. No one, thankfully, seemed to recognize him as the attacker from yesterday. Eye-witnesses were often horrible. From there, slinking his way back to the Ambassador St. apartment was facile.

He held down the button on the keypad, the dial-tone buzzing. A click.

"Hello?" He said.

"Kronos." Athena chirped.

"It's done. Where's Rhea?"

"Meet us at headquarters on Olympic Boulevard."

Kronos hesitated. "When?"

The phone line went dead. Kronos' eyes scanned the open window. It was daylight, perhaps just the very beginning of sundown. His sleep appeared to have pulled him to another day. Seemed a time as good as any other.

 **As a former king,** and as a man confident in himself to a perhaps egregious extent he'd admit – Kronos didn't feel underdressed the swarm of pinstripes and tails around him. He got a weird look, or two. Whatever. It was his second time now, in the Olympian main lobby, but as this time he'd been invited – the receptionist had led him to a little waiting room just beside an elevator. It was a little shocking, to look at it. The walls were blood red. The floor, red. The window sills, cabinets: red. A couple of large picture frames, surrounding conical lush and green landscapes, were gold. The woman, thin and gaunt, but pretty, offered him water.

"No thanks."

She scurried back to the front lobby.

He didn't notice the clock until the silence left by the woman engulfed the room. A grandfather clock, deeply golden, ticked mildly in a corner. Kronos folded his hands together over his lap.

"You again."

Kronos blinked. "Ares."

He was draped against the wall, arms folded, and leather jacket unzipped. A white muscle shirt didn't quite manage to cover his entire chest. His combat boots looked heavy. The god snorted. "so the deeds are done?"

"Of course."

"Of course," echoed the god. He shook his head. "I never liked you titans."

"No?"

"Too full of yourselves."

Kronos bit back a retort. No need to pick a fight with a moron that could keep Rhea out of spite. Besides, Kronos couldn't be bothered to fall to Ares' level of stupidity. He didn't respond, much to the war god's chagrin. Fucker was looking for a fight. Naturally.

"Whatever, punk." Languidly, the god leaned over a coffee table – one which Kronos had practically missed due to the fact is was the same fucking _red_ as everything else in the room. Vaguely, he wondered who their designer was. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn it was Area. The remote now in the war god's hand clicked on the television to an official Olympian news channel.

The headline read: _DEMIGOD PERSEUS JACKSON DECLARED DEAD. BODY TO BE TRANSPORTED TO HOME-TOWN OF NEW YORK, NEW YORK FOR BURIAL_.

Son of a bitch, Kronos gawked to himself as Ares thundered down the hall – still holding the remote. He supposed every now and then even people like Poseidon get lucky. He watched the air-brushed news reporter with mild amusement as she recounted the actions of a "young middle eastern man wielding a sword." Kronos wondered when a small switch blade had become a sword. He heard her before he saw her – as was becoming customary. A clack of her stilettos on the marble hallway alerted him.

"Kronos."

"Athena."

"Follow me."

Into an elevator. A manicured nail depressed the button with the highest number. Of course. The titan thought it was funny even the all-powerful Olympians had to bare with generic elevator music.

 _DING_.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Athena stretch out her arm – skin pale, veins green – and motion him forward. "After you," she smiled.

The throne room… was hard to describe. Imagine perhaps an observatory – with windows surrounding every thing visible to you. Now, add a painted ceiling, with designs intricate enough to rival the Michelangelo's – detailing fantastic stories you'd never heard. Add a couple of thrones with as much gold as you'd like. Picture a man larger than life, a combed beard and startling blue eyes, at the end of that room, fingers drumming against his platinum armrest as he watched you. Now you're getting there.

Almost there. You must remind yourself, that this was of course, Zeus, which meant one awkward thing.

He was completely naked with two girls draped over him like lap dogs.

One was giggling stupidly, but the other's mouth was occupied with something else entirely. Well. Kronos strode forward with as much ease as he could, trying to reassure himself that Zeus would hold to his deal, and release Rhea. He could be content with nothing but Rhea. He just needed the chance. Frankly, he didn't give a shit about the girls.

"My son."

Kronos almost smiled at Zeus' flinch. The titan continued where the god did not. "Your mother?"

The corners of Zeus' lips turned up slightly.

"Ah, yes. Our deal. Girls, leave us." They waited while the giggling girls found the exit behind Kronos. They reeked of perfume when they ran past. Zeus' fingers strummed against the armrest. "I would have honored it, if you had."

"I… don't understand," he tried.

Zeus laughed, a hollow, booming sound. His stomach was rolled and lacked definition, even as he leaned back against his throne. "Don't you?" Blue eyes flickered. "Aren't you the one who helped plan the ruse with Poseidon, my treacherous brother?"

The titans' stomach dropped. Why? Why had he allowed Poseidon to delude him with visions of hope. Kronos had walked this walk before, danced this dance. And yet, a few words of bitter hope had rekindled his "fighting spirit" as it was. He knew better than to be an optimist.

Much better to be clever.

Kronos didn't ever give Zeus the impression of kicking himself, though he certainly felt it. "Ruse, my son?"

He reveled in how Zeus squirmed at the endearment. "Perseus!" he snapped.

Kronos let his head tilt just slightly to the left, let his mouth droop just enough. "Is… dead? As you ordered, my son."

Red flushed the king's cheeks.

"He lives! The injury was non-fatal!"

Kronos turned back to the door, pointing vaguely. "I saw on the new he'd been declared dead? Isn't that true?" Matter-of-factly: "I pierced his lung, Zeus."

He could hear the Olympian trying to control his breathing, to regain his cool. To curb his temper. It didn't work.

"Jason."

Jason? Why…. ah.

Fuck.

"Jason!"

This just became infinitely harder.

Kronos didn't hear footsteps, but saw the demigod, confined to a wheelchair, nimbly pushing the wheels forward.

"I'm here, father," he said before Zeus could bellow again.

He was breathing in huffs. "You said," sharp inhale, "that Kronos and Poseidon planned Percy's escape?"

"Yes, father. I heard it in the hospital."  
"And?" Fury burned in his eyes.

Jason looked a little paler than he should have. "And, father?"

Zeus' gaze swung back to Kronos, but he addressed his son. "He," an arched finger in his direction, "doesn't seem to know anything about it."

"He's… the Crooked One, my lord." Jason tried an honorific. "An expert liar. And he betray-"

"And your sister was a spy." Drumming against the armrest. "So who should I believe? My disgusting father or my lying progeny?"

Jason blinked.

And it dawned on Kronos. Jason didn't know Thalia was a spy. Suddenly, his random assault at Kronos' apartment was a lot less random. The poor demigod thought Kronos had gone rogue. That Zeus was genuinely grieving for his daughter. The titan didn't think it bode well for a family when even one's child couldn't read their lies. This was of course, personal experience speaking. Kronos thought he really should have figured this out sooner, though, to be fair, he'd had a lot on his mind. A lot of useless distractions on his mind. Now it was clear.

This was Jason, "Thalia was a-"

"Guards," Zeus was beginning to regain some of his calm, "take them to the dungeon."

Dungeon? This would be _fun_.

"Yes, my Lord."

"What?! Fath-!" Jason yelped. "Father, wait. Thalia was a-"

"Now!"

 **In retrospect, Kronos should have been** a lot more pissed off than he actually was. He'd been royally fucked by Zeus, and if he was being petty, which he had few qualms about being, Poseidon. Rhea was still in captivity and now he was too. His eyes outlined his surroundings. The dungeon hadn't changed much since last he'd been there – gods that was dismal to say. This was where it had all began, wasn't it? It was still dark and damp and obviously hadn't been _washed_ since last Kronos had been either. A sole window, circular, was carved far out of his reach in the stone slab of the back wall. The side walls where stone. The front wall, embedded with a single wooden door, was stone. He could have almost certainly broken himself out, if it wasn't for the tattle-tale rat across from him he knew would scream for the guards the moment he so much as went to scratch his ass. Jason, Kronos noted with some disdain, had been robbed of his wheelchair by one of the guards and sat alone on the cold ground, shaking across from the titan. His legs were still. Kronos tilted his head.

"Jas-"

"Be quiet!" Hissed the demigod.

Kronos raised and eyebrow, and leaned back against the wall.

This is how their day went: the occasional sneer from a prison guard, Kronos tempting to make casual small talk and Jason shutting him down before he'd uttered a word.

It was boring.

The titan noticed, finally, that Olympus – for he's sure they were on Olympus – didn't really change with the rotation of the earth like everywhere else. It was always a gloomy, overcast dusk that settled into shadows gently and cooled the mountain to frigid temperatures. He could see why Jason was shivering.

Kronos exhaled through his nose, later then, when he thought night must have fallen and let his eyes slide shut. Now all he could do was wait.

And fuck, it was a long wait.

But he'd planned for this, hadn't he? Poseidon's inevitable failure?

Of course he had.

He was the Crooked One for Gaia's sake.

His neck hurt when he woke to a faint sound outside the wooden door. A hiss, maybe? Scratching. Kronos rolled his head towards the door. Across from him, Jason was unconscious and had fallen onto his side in the night. The titan slid his foot towards the wooden door and nudged it with his toe. The sound ceased.

An all together different sound echoed from the corridor.

"Hey," he heard a guard begin, "you can't-"

Thud.

An echo of a smile colored his cheeks.

Keys found their way into the lock of the door.

It swung open.

"Boo." She said.

"Kronos squinted at the fire light from the hallway.

"You took your time."

She snorted. "Ready?"

"Guess so."

She hoisted him up from the ground. "Then let's go. Guards are out."

Something sharp bit into the back of his heel. She laughed. "Does the demigod want to come too?"

To his credit, Jason was doing his absolute best to make sure Kronos did _not_ escape that dungeon. His father would have been proud, maybe. His nail were no doubt leaving ugly red crescent marks in Kronos' Achilles tendon. It was almost comically, really, the way his legs were sprawled all across the cell's floor, or it would have been if Kronos hadn't known the poor thing couldn't move them. The titan sighed.

"If we leave him, Zeus will kill him."

She didn't say anything.

"So he comes." Kronos affirmed.

Kronos bent down to his knees and touched the demigod's forehead.

"He-" his eyelids flittered. His body went slack.

Rhea raised an eyebrow.

"Drawing blood from the brain," he explained briefly. "He'll be okay."

"That wasn't my question."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Magic? How?"

Kronos let the hint of a smile rise on his face. A finger to his lips. "Can't tell you everything, can I?"  
"And yet…"

"Hey!" He chided jokingly.

"You will later."  
"…Later." He agreed.

Rhea shook her head. The titan extended her hand to Kronos and when he took it, something cold and hard was pressed into his palm.

"Thanks for this."

He wrapped his fingers around it gingerly. "Backup plan," he said hoarsely. "In case _this_ happened."

"You mean you weren't going to set me free regardless?"  
"Now, woman. Don't underestimate me."

"I would never."

She hadn't been lying. Every guard on patrol was lax against a wall or the floor, or against each other.

He laughed. "What did you do?"

She flexed her wrist. Rolled her neck. Jason, in all his useless weight, was slung over his shoulder – and she hoisted him up closer to his neck. "Target practice." A smile turned up at the corner of his lips; really at this point, there was little that could endear her more to him.

Her balance alternated awkwardly between her two feet as she stood in the corridor.

"What is it?"

"If we leave now, Zeus will hunt us for eternity."

"Unless he's defeated."

Her eyes turned to him, a startling green in the point light from the narrow window.

"You think we should fight him? That would mean a revolution against the government, Kronos."

"We've done it before."

Her face wasn't much of a puzzle. Hesitation, fear, clarity, and then finally, resolve.

He couldn't help his smile. In his palm, the small medallion he'd slipped to her in her cell broadened and lengthened. A sword, etched across the blade with incantations he'd learned as a child, a silvery tip curling up towards the sky adjacent to the straight point. His first weapon. A gift from Ouranos. It felt heavy against his wrist, the string she'd tied around his arm when they'd been married. As a joke, but he'd never removed it. Call him sentimental. Call him crazy. He'd didn't care when he was tracing her footsteps.

"I'll follow you."

 **Done. Son of a- . At least this act didn't take me a month... Genuinely, I hope you guys enjoyed this... honestly had a lot of fun writing it... Question for any of the brave souls that actually got this far (didn't realize there was fucking test, did ya?): ending too abrupt? Part three too short? Which act was your favorite? Interactions between Kronos and Rhea? My writing okay? Weird? Story?** ** **Thoughts?** I'd love to hear them! Thank you again (really, really) for reading. **


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